You Belong With Me
by RainThestral93
Summary: Following the Battle of Hogwarts, life is getting on top of Hermione Granger. When Molly Weasley notices, she asks her son Fred to keep an eye out for the bushy-haired witch. Hermione quickly finds herself developing feelings for Fred, which would be fine if only he didn't have a girlfriend. With the help of Ginny, Hermione embarks on a plan to win over the red-headed joker...
1. She Doesn't Get Your Humour Like I Do

_Note: I wrote this Fremione fanfic a while ago, and although I'd deleted my work off the site this is one of a few that I'm proud of so I've edited it and re-uploaded it. Please read & leave reviews! _

Chapter One: She Doesn't Get Your Humour Like I Do

Hermione sat in the kitchen of the Burrow, her hand feeding cereal into her mouth straight out of the box, chew, repeat, without really thinking about it. Her eyes were glued to _Hogwarts: A History_ , a book she had to have read a million times over by now. She didn't usually re-read factual books, finding that she had a pretty good ability to retain information first time through, but the summer at the Burrow had taken its toll, and with the boys playing Quidditch every minute of daylight, she'd depleted her collection of books and was very much out of reading materials. And given that _Hogwarts: A History_ was a fairly voluminous novel, she'd picked it up in the hope that it would slow her down, until she got paid and was able to purchase a few new titles from Diagon Alley, at least.

The house was eerily quiet, for it was still early in the morning, and the rest of the Burrow's residents had yet to wake. Hermione hadn't been sleeping properly lately – she'd put it down to stress but really, the witch had a lot more than just work on her mind. The aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts had caught up with her, and nearly every time Hermione made to go to sleep she woke up gasping and drenched in sweat, having relived the experience of watching her classmates' stoic faces as they tumbled to their deaths.

That explained why Hermione, munching her way through a box of Ron's favourite cereal, was up at such a ridiculous hour, making steady progress with her book. She figured that if she kept her mind busy then she wouldn't sleep and therefore avoid the reoccurring nightmare that she seemed to be unable to avoid, no matter how much Dreamless Sleep Draught she seemed to take. That's what she'd been doing all summer. Keeping busy. In a desperate attempt to prevent depressing thoughts about the battle bother her, Hermione had thrown herself into her work, to the point where people were beginning to question her sanity.

After the final battle, Hermione had been offered a post at the Ministry of Magic working for the department of Muggle Affairs; the department that dealt with the co-existence of Muggles and Wizards. Her role, as chief instigator of idiosyncratic events – or as the Weasley family called it "strange goings on" – was taxing and required Hermione to be very vigilant with her work and whom she employed.

She felt very important, sat in her office day in day out, filling out forms and authorising Obliviations of unsuspecting Muggles who'd gotten on the wrong end of a Wizard, but she was currently on her two week holiday and was going out of her mind with boredom. She'd taken as much work on as she could, claiming she was "behind" but the rest of the ministry were running out of tasks to delegate to the keen young witch – and some would say she was becoming more of a nuisance than an actual help – which was why Hermione had found herself beside herself with boredom.

That was where Fred Weasley had come in. You'd have thought that with Voldemort dead the Golden trio would finally have time to themselves to relax and enjoy life, but that hadn't been the case – well not for the trio, anyway. After the battle, and a brief span of dating Ron – they'd lasted about two weeks before Hermione had flipped, irritated by Ron's constant belching and wandering hands, impatient for her to put out – Hermione had become increasingly distant from her two best friends.

Maybe she'd let her failed relationship with Ron and her tendency for over-working come between her friendship, but Hermione was insistent that Harry and Ron were too preoccupied with their girlfriends; Lavendar and Ginny, to want to spend time with plain and bookworm-ish Hermione Granger. So it was with that thought that Hermione retreated inwards, to the worry of Molly Weasley, eating less and spending more and more time late at work, and when she was home, she rarely left her room, and was always hidden behind a book.

Having taken Hermione into her home once Hermione had been unable to reverse her parent's memory charm due to not being able to track them down, Molly had taken on the role of "Mum" suitably well, as she'd always done. She fussed over Hermione, spoilt her with the odd present here are there – much to the annoyance of the Weasley boys, who never received such treats – and moaned about her lack of appetite, pressing grand packed lunches on Hermione to take to work every day, and overloading her dinner plate.

Hermione's deteriorating state really worried Mrs Weasley, which was why, one July afternoon, Molly Weasley had called her son, Fred into the kitchen, casting a silencing charm around the room just in case anyone was feeling especially nosy and decided to snoop.

"Fred, dear?" Molly Weasley called, from the kitchen, as she saw a flash of red hair streak past the door. He skidded to a halt.

"Yeah?" His voice was deeper now, and he looked a lot older after the battle had taken its toll on him. A slight scar above his right eye was all that remained of his injuries – from where a large sector of a wall had knocked him unconscious for the better part of a week, and now his mother was easily able to distinguish between her sons, due to George's missing ear and Fred's scar.

He'd let his hair grow all shaggy so that it flopped in front of his eyes, much to the annoyance of his mother, who was constantly berating Bill for his unruly mass of ginger hair.

Fred liked his bangs, though; he was self-conscious about his scar, although you wouldn't think the twin would bother about his looks, having always focused more on his sense of humour. But his scar was one more thing that set him apart from his brother, George, so Fred and his brother had grown their locks to hide their disfigurements, with George's absent ear covered by his hair, and Fred's fringe flopping down to cover his scar.

Slightly taller than George, Fred stood at six foot one, towering over his mother, as the tallest Weasley son, with the exception of Charlie, who was barely ever there, anyway. His eyes were startlingly blue, and still held their mischievous glint – nothing could take that away from him, ever – but had been looking more troubled of late.

Molly suspected his high maintenance girlfriend, Angelina Johnson, had more to do with her son's tired, worn state than Fred would admit. Whilst Angelina Johnson was a lovely girl, and very successful, too, Molly had never fully warmed to her in the way she had Harry, when she discovered Harry and Ginny were finally dating – that was after an awkward incident in which Molly had disturbed a passionate kiss between her youngest and the Chosen one, on her voyage to deliver some laundry. Molly was now very careful to knock before entering any one's bedroom.

"I was wondering if you could do me a favour. Hermione's not been looking great lately – Harry and Ron aren't being the best friends to her at the moment, and I know she's got a lot on her plate with work. She's not been eating and she barely leaves that room of hers. Could you look out for her, check on her every now and again, make sure she eats when I'm not in? Could you do that for me?" Molly asked, chirpily. Despite her cheery tone, Fred knew better than to argue with his mother – it had been a demand and not a request, no matter how his mother had phrased it, and he had begrudgingly agreed to take the crumpled Gryffindor under his wing.

"Sure, no problem, Mother dearest," he agreed, "But Angelina's got some things she needs me to drop off at Katie's for her so I'm going out for a bit," he announced, "But I'll be back for dinner so make me an extra tray of Yorkshire Puddings please," he begged, flashing his Mum his trademark smile, and then laughing as she attempted to smack him with her oven gloves, but couldn't reach. "Laters," he smiled and his Mum had smile and shook her head as he'd apparated over to Angelina's flat.

Following that conversation, Fred had done his very best to be a good friend to Hermione in the place of Harry and Ron. He'd popped into Flourish and Blotts, had bought her the latest collection of Charms books which he knew she had a particular soft spot for, and had dropped them on her lap one night. Yes, he might have sorely bruised her legs, but how was he to know that she'd been asleep and wasn't going to be able to catch them like he thought she would? However, once she'd overcome the shock of having a stack of books dropped on her, she'd thanked Fred immensely and smiled as she steadily worked her way through the stacks. Molly had also smiled at the gesture, and she knew that her son was kind hearted enough to do Hermione the world of good.

Another time, it had been a hot day and Hermione had been reading under the Cherry blossom tree in the garden, with the Weasleys playing Quidditch in the field next to her, and he'd apparated to Diagon Alley, got her favourite - Cookies and Cream ice cream - from Fortesean's Ice Cream Parlour, and she'd thanked him again, wondering to herself why the joker Fred Weasley was being so nice to her whilst everyone else had appeared to forget she existed.

She'd asked Fred what he'd done to the ice cream before she accepted it; he was adamant that he hadn't tampered with it, and he told her that she'd merely looked a little hot and he thought she'd appreciate the dairy treat, which she did of course.

Fred had liked thinking of ways he could momentarily cheer Hermione up – because he did agree with his Mum, he hadn't noticed it before, but now it had been pointed out to him, he could see she pushed her food around her plate at mealtimes, and always seemed distant.

It didn't matter if she didn't finish her meals – for Ron would always polish off her leftovers, fighting George or Ginny for her roast potatoes or leftover turkey – but it was evident she wasn't eating; she was wasting away, she was certainly thinner and had lost the healthy glow she'd always had – instead she had bags under her eyes from where Fred assumed she'd stayed up all night reading, or doing some extra paperwork that wasn't needed for another year.

She was falling to bits, and he liked trying to keep her in one piece, working in accordance with his Mum to slip her a piece of cake here, or buy her a new jumper.

Slowly and surely, Hermione had noticed Fred's constant attempts to be nice to her, and couldn't help but feeling touched that someone cared enough to want to improve her mood. She'd spend longer and longer in the presence of one of the two family jokers; sometimes she'd curl up in front of the fire once everyone had disappeared off to bed for the night, promising herself she'd read just one more chapter (she would then continue into the early hours of the morning, until she'd read the entire book) and Fred would come and lay on the sofa next to her, not disrupting her peace, but picking her legs up and draping them over his lap as he traced patterns therapeutically on her skin.

One time she'd fallen asleep in that very position, and he'd scooped her up and carried her up the stairs to bed, not wanting to disturb the rare moment of sleep in which she looked peaceful, serene even.

The next day Hermione had wondered how she'd arrived in her own bed, and with a blush she realised the Weasley twin much have carried her up – she'd thanked him, but he'd waved it off as nothing and said he hadn't wanted to wake her because she looked tired, but at the same time he didn't want her to get a cricked neck from sleeping awkwardly on the sofa.

He was so thoughtful and nice, and it was a welcome change from Ron and Harry, Hermione mused, who only seemed to help her if they got something out of it. The only reasons Harry or Ron had every fetched her books or brought her a cup of coffee was if they wanted something, whether it was the loan of something, such as her iPod, or how back they used to be especially nice to her back in their school years when they'd wanted her to "finish" their Charms essays – more like write the entire things, Hermione thought to herself, jadedly.

There was no way to put it other than Fred Weasley was a gentleman, who was funny, charming, good looking, care-free, financially stable, intelligent, and in more ways than one, everything that Hermione Granger could want in a potential suitor.

His kind gestures were only one reason Hermione liked Fred – she'd always had a schoolgirl crush on him throughout her years at Hogwarts, but because he was older and well liked at school, she'd never gotten close to him. She doubted he'd have cared much for a bookworm like herself, anyway, when he could have had his pick of all the girls in the school, anyway.

Fred Weasley, in Hermione's opinion, was essentially perfect. The only problem was, however, that Fred Weasley had a girlfriend – much to Hermione's dismay –Angelina Johnson, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies, at that.

A noise roused Hermione from the pages of _Hogwarts: A History_ and she looked up to see the very person she'd been thinking about, instead of concentrating on the jumble of words in front of her. Fred Weasley was stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking sleepy – wearing blue and white striped pyjama bottoms, and no shirt (he had a great torso from years of Quidditch, Hermione had concluded after a little too much staring at it), he had sleep in the corner of his eyes, which she pointed out to him, and he rubbed it away with a yawn.

He made coffee for them both, just as Hermione liked it, black with no sugar, and held the cup out to her, as he nursed his own brew in his hands, as he sat down opposite her.

"Morning, 'Mione," He beamed at her, still looking slightly sleep. "What brings you down here so early on such a delightful morning?" He asked, chuckling to himself as the rain spat at the kitchen window.

"Rain kept me up," she nodded to the window, and holding her battered book up, she added, "Plus I wanted to get some reading in before the house wakes up given that I'm not going to be reading outside this morning in this weather."

"Very wise," Fred grinned ruefully, for he knew that on rainy days, the Burrow was a writhing mass of teenage bodies and the close proximity usually led to a large amount of heated arguments. Hermione was very unlikely to be able to read in peace and quiet. "I swear you've read that book a million times now, are you not bored by it?" He asked, chuckling.

"No! This book is a brilliant peace of literature – really all Hogwarts students should be made to read it in order to truly appreciate the beauty of the school… did you know that in 1972, during a Triwizard tournament task, a cockatrice escaped, all three heads of the schools -"

"- were injured by the creature, suffering severe head injuries?" Finished Fred, to Hermione's shock and to his own amusement. "You're not the only one who's read that book you know. How d'you think George and I learnt our way around Hogwarts like the back of our hand?"

"You've read _Hogwarts: A History?"_ Hermione asked again in disbelief, and Fred chuckled.

"Course, did you not know I could read?" He teased, completely at ease with taking the mickey out of himself – a skill learnt from many years of pranking, one had to be able to laugh at oneself to become an accomplished prankster, after all. Their banter was interrupted as a small ball of feathers collided with the kitchen window, and both Hermione and Fred leapt to their feet to rescue a drenched Errol, the erratic family owl that left a path of mayhem and destruction everywhere he went – much like Hermione's favourite Weasley brother.

"It's from Angelina," Fred announced, as he took the letter from the bird's leg, feeding Errol a treat as he did so. He took his wand from the back pocket of his pyjama bottoms and dried the parchment before unfurling it to read. He didn't notice Hermione's face fall as he announced the letter's sender, but Hermione noticed Fred wincing slightly as he read the words on the parchment in front of him.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, leaning over Fred's shoulder to read, before he crumpled up the letter and shoved it in his pocket.

"Nothing," Fred shrugged, and Hermione raised her eyebrow at him. 

"Fred Weasley, I've known your brother, Ron, for half my life. Please don't think you can lie to me, when I've had years of sussing out when your brother is fibbing – you're all the same. There's something bothering, so spill." Her assertive tone forced Fred to concede defeat, and as he sat back down at the worn kitchen table, he sighed.

"Things have just been a little tense with me and Angelina lately, that's all. She's got the trials for the World Cup team coming up and she's been really stressed, which is understandable she _is_ an international Quidditch player after all… but I've been doing my best to cheer her up in the way I know best; jokes, pranks, you think it… I've been _really_ thoughtful, as well," He added, "I took her out for a meal the other night, even apparated to Italy because I know that's her favourite cuisine, but all she did was complain that I was taking her away from her training for the evening, and proceeded to talk about her teammates ALL bloody night."

Hermione felt a massive pang of sympathy – the only problem evident in Fred's relationship with Angelina, as far as Hermione could see, was Angelina. Which was slightly problematic, and she didn't know how to break that to Fred when he evidently liked her so much.

"That letter was about a joke I played on her team mate Oliver Wood – I don't know if you remember him from school or not, but I dyed his hair pink to try and cheer her up, but she was just having a go saying I'm ruining her credibility as a professional Quidditch player, and that I need to grow up…" Fred sighed, resting his head in his hands, and looking truly put out.

Hermione reached out and squeezed his should reassuringly. "Don't worry about it, maybe it's just the wrong time of the month or something, Fred, because I'm sure deep down Angelina knows you're doing your best to cheer her up. Once the trials are out, she'll come round, promise."

"You sure, 'Mione?" Fred asked her, pleadingly looking at the brunette witch across the table from him.

"Positive," Hermione smiled, only adding "At least I bloody well hope she gets her act together," to herself.

"Thanks Hermione, you're really good to talk to, you know," Fred admitted. "You're the best, you honestly are. Cm'here,"he said, holding his arms open for a hug.

Hermione grinned into Fred's bare shoulder as he enfolded his arms around her in a warm and honest hug. Her mind wandered back to the last time he'd told her she was the best, and she found herself grinning at the memory.

It had been late one evening and Harry and Ron were practicing for the Keeper trials so she'd had a relatively peaceful evening, with the Common Room to herself, and no one pestering her to do their homework. That was, at least, until the Weasley twins had turned up.

They'd brought with them a massive cardboard box of products, and an adoring fan club with them, also. She'd sat up, miffed that her silence had been disturbed, and her prefect instincts had taken over. She'd chided the students for being out of bed after hours – glad that her Prefect privileges meant she could utilise the Common Room after hours for extended study – and told Fred and George that they "should know better".

Yet her curiosity (and maybe her crush on Fred) had got the better of her, and she'd allowed the boys to stay and work on their inventions on the conditions they dismissed their fan club. Once the gaggle of first years had been dismissed, and a few older girls who'd been lustfully eyeing the Weasley twins, much to their amusement, Hermione had picked up some of the notes the boys had scrawled and read them, fascinated.

There was a fine art and a high skill level for the manufacture of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes products, and although they broke so many school rules that it gave Hermione a headache, she did have to appreciate their intelligence and dedication.

She'd pointed out that using beetle juice in the place of Arrowroot Juice was making their products cause some of the students to come out in unfortunate rashes and Fred had hugged her enthusiastically exclaiming "You're the best, 'Mione!" For apparently that was a problem they'd been struggling to find of the root of for _ages_ – at least that was George's explanation for Fred's sudden outburst.

She'd just smiled secretively to herself, settling back down into her armchair to finish her essay for Professor Binns – already five rolls of parchment longer than in needed to be.

Their hug broke apart and Fred smiled his lopsided grin at her, and little did he know but that tiny gesture – one she was used to by now, as she watched him grin as he managed to pull off a successful manoeuvre in Quidditch, or as he pulled off a good practical joke at breakfast in the Great hall, or that one time she'd helped him with his Transfiguration essay and he'd grinned his thanks at her – made her heart perform a cartwheel in her chest.

It was a shame, Hermione Granger thought, that Angelina Johnson had got her mitts on the freckled Prankster before Hermione had every really gotten a change to know him. It was a shame that Fred seemed smitten with the international Quidditch star, and it was a shame that Hermione cared too much for the redhead to want to stir up even more trouble in his relationship than there already was – something Hermione was perfectly capable of doing. The sad reality was that Fred Weasley thought of Hermione as nothing more than a sister – something which Hermione, for now, had to decided to settle on, as there was little else she could do.

"Morning," Ron chirped enthusiastically, as he bounded down the last few steps, grabbing a loaf of bread, and not even stopping to cut it, tore of a chunk and chewed loudly. Fred grinned, and he stood up from where he was slouched on the table, leaning on it next to Hermione.

"Mornin' brother of mine… someone's unusually chirpy this morning – someone's been getting some," he grinned, as Ron went a shade of crimson.

Hermione sighed inwardly to herself, already her morning silence had been interrupted and it was only eight in the morning. It looked set to be a long two weeks, she thought as the house began to come to life, faucet taps moaning, the stairs squeaking as teenage boys bounded down, and chairs scraped the wooden floorboards. Molly bustled into the kitchen, pressing a croissant into Hermione's hand before she even had a chance to say no, ordering her sons around despite the fact all of them were a good few heads taller than her. A long two weeks indeed, Hermione sighed to herself as she picked up her book and made her way up to her room.


	2. She Wears Short Skirts, I Wear T-Shirts

Chapter Two: She Wears Short Skirts, I Wear T-Shirts

The next few weeks were a passing blur to Hermione; everything seemed to be happening so quickly that the Gryffindor golden girl only had to so much as blink and she'd miss an earth shattering new development. The Burrow seemed to be a hub of constant activity – even at night time, for there was bound to be a Weasley up at ridiculous hours munching on cereal, or Ginny and Harry would sneak out for a midnight swim in the lake when they thought everyone was asleep. Hermione very rarely slept, though, which was why she noted with amusement the innocuous goings on at silly hours in the morning.

Fred and Hermione were growing increasingly close, as they spent more and more time together. Recently, Hermione had taken to avoiding the red headed twin where possible, as the result of her growing feelings for him. It was awkward liking someone who evidently had no romantic interest in her; Hermione had been in that position on far too many occasions, firstly with Ron whilst he'd been pursuing Lavendar, and then with Cedric Diggory before his untimely death, and she knew from first-hand experience that it was not a nice predicament to find yourself in, at all.

George Weasley, Fred's twin, had flooed straight from St Mungo's hospital into the Weasleys' grate with red tinged cheeks and a broader grin than any of his pranks had ever managed to induce, to deliver the news that his wife – Alicia Spinnet, who he'd married pretty much straight after the war had concluded – had given birth to a bundle of joy that they'd decided to name Roxanne. Molly Weasley was beside herself with joy of course – as one would expect from the maternal woman, she loved children as was evident from the number she'd had herself, and she'd already dutifully taken on the role of loving Grandmother.

Hermione couldn't help but think that poor Alicia Weasley-Spinnet – she'd retained her maiden name because she was a Doctor in St Mungo's – was feeling a little bit overwhelmed. The amount of "helpful" advice that Molly insisted on proffering, not to mention the steady flow of baby gifts and baby food (specially developed using magic for newborns) sent directly from the Burrow was enough to drive any mother crazy, and Hermione smiled to herself, glad that she'd decided she never wanted kids, ever, in a million years. The mere thought was shiver inducing, and Hermione was delighted to discover that Fred Weasley also had no intention of being a father.

They'd been sitting outside in Hermione's favourite spot, underneath the blossoming Cherry trees in the Weasley garden, when the topic of George and Roxanne had come out. Hermione had broached it, genuinely curious as to what effect the addition of a new family member had on the dynamic of Fred and George's twin relationship.

"What d'you think of Roxanne?" Hermione had asked, "She's a pretty baby isn't she – and her hair, well you could tell she's a Weasley from a mile away," she'd chuckled.

Fred had shrugged, lacking the enthusiasm Hermione thought he'd have towards his new niece. "She's alright I suppose. I know it's selfish of me but now she's finally arrived I can't help but think that there's going to be even less time that George and myself get to spend with one another. We're pushed enough as it is, for staff at the shop right now… and Alicia doesn't want George to work as much so if you ask me, as much as I love Roxanne, she's causing to be more of a nuisance than she's worth!" Fred had vented.

"Fred!" Hermione had exclaimed, shocked at the twin's outburst.

"What?" he'd asked, innocently, and Hermione shrugged, he was, after all, entitled to his own opinion, and she _had_ asked.

"If you need help at the shop then you need only ask," Hermione offered. "I've not got enough to do at the ministry, as it is," she explained.

Fred stared at her with an open mouth. "You haven't got enough to do? Jesus, 'Mione," he warned, "If you worked any more you wouldn't have enough minutes in the day left for breathing!" This got a laugh out of the Gryffindor, and she tossed her head back in mirth, not noticing the curiosity with which Fred regarded her. She looked pretty when she laughed, he thought. Not that she wasn't pretty anyway, he hastily added. He just didn't usually think of her in that way, he amended, shrugging it off.

"Oh come on, you're the one moaning about not having enough staff!" She jibed, "Besides, half my hours at work are voluntary. I'd be more than happy to help you at the shop."

"Are you sure?" Fred had checked. "It's stressful at the best of the times," he lectured, "And the last thing I want is for Hermione to explode from stress – imagine how messy that would be to clear up," he joked, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm a big girl, Fred Weasley," she pointed out, "I know what I can handle thank you very much… Having helped defeat Lord Voldemort, I think I can handle working in a joke shop," she added, cheekily.

"Touché," he'd chuckled, "You win. You can start this Saturday if you want – I'm sure George will be delighted to have the relief to be able to spend time with Roxy. Remind me to never have kids."

"What?" Hermione had asked, shocked, even though she'd heard what the Weasley twin had said perfectly well.

"Remind me never to have kids," Fred reiterated, a bemused smile flitting across his face as he registered the look of astonishment which crossed Hermione's.

"Oh I heard that," she explained, "Just why don't you want kids?"

Fred shrugged, "Too much hassle. Plus they're dirty, sticky, smelly and bloody annoying. If there's anything I've learnt from having such a big family, it's that I have no intention of having children. Besides, if I take Weasley Wizard Wheezes as far as I hope to take it, I highly doubt I'll have the time to settle down and have a family," he added as an afterthought. "Why, have I just shattered your hopes of having my babies?" Fred teased, cheekily, not noticing the slight flush that crossed Hermione's cheeks.

"Of course," Hermione retorted, "I want you, I need you, Oh baby, Oh baby," she'd said so monotonously that Fred had cracked a massive smile.

"I dunno, we'd have good looking sprogs don't you think, 'Mione?" Fred had laughed, "I mean what with my ravishing good looks and your intelligence they'd be the super children of the future, don't you think?" The thought of children that had both Fred's knack for pranking, and Hermione's knowledge and organisational skills truly was a scary thought indeed.

"Only the best," she'd laughed. "But seems we both see eye to eye on the kid front then," she admitted, bringing the conversation round onto a much more serious note. "I don't want them either."

"Really?" Fred seemed genuinely surprised at this admission. "Why not?"

Hermione shrugged. She didn't really know why – the idea of being a Mum had never appealed to her, and there was something about bawling sticky toddlers in the supermarket that made Hermione feel a tad bit queasy. Maybe she wasn't mother material, maybe she just didn't have anyone to entertain the prospect of bearing children with – whatever it was, childbirth or motherhood had never been on Hermione Granger's 'To Do' list.

"I guess I just want to focus on myself," Hermione admitted sheepishly. "I've never fancied being a sit at home Mum," she explained, and Fred nodded in agreement. No, anyone would have to be mental to expect Hermione to sit on her ambition and play house, he agreed.

"I think you'd be a good Mum, though," Fred admitted quietly, and Hermione smiled.

"Why?"

"You're pretty much perfect 'Mione," Fred hurried, bashfully, "let's face it; you'd be Super Mum if there ever was one. Who knows, maybe one day you'll meet the right person and you'll change your mind," he added.

Hermione had blushed at the compliment and told Fred not to say such nonsense to which he'd only shrugged claiming, "It's the truth!" That had warmed Hermione's insides a little bit more than the Gryffindor witch really cared to admit.

Hermione started work at Weasley Wizard Wheezes that very Saturday. Despite Molly's berating of Fred – claiming Hermione "worked enough as it is" – only for Fred to exclaim, "I told her Mum, but she wasn't having any of it!" – the rest of the Weasley family was happy for Hermione. She'd been miserable – possibly the only person on the face of the Earth who wasn't thrilled at the prospect of two weeks off work – and seeing her busy put the familiar smile back on her face.

Fred, to Hermione's annoyance, had woken her up early on Saturday, with a cold flannel dripping ice cold water down the back of her neck, not only soaking her mattress, but also jolting her out of what had been a rather nice, if not painfully embarrassing dream, involving none other than Fred Weasley himself.

Hermione hadn't been able to remain annoyed for long, not when she saw the beam of her favourite twin peering down at her, especially not as he presented her with a stack of his speciality maple syrup pancakes – which he told her would give her the energy she would need for her first day at the famous joke store of Weasley concoction.

After apparating alongside Fred to Diagon Alley, Hermione felt a little light headed, and she couldn't work out whether she was still getting used to the bizarre feeling of apparition, or whether it was anything to do with the fact that she'd held hands with Fred only moments before. Fred, if he had noticed the way she flinched at his touch, almost cautious to go near him, hadn't said anything, and rubbing his hands together excitedly, he'd given Hermione a whistle stop tour of everything in the shop.

There were so many new products since Hermione had last visited alongside the rest of the Weasley clan. Not that she'd admit it to Fred in a million years, but she was worried that she wouldn't be able to keep on top of everything. They must be doing well, Hermione thought, as to her surprise, there was already a rapidly growing queue outside the store. My, Hermione thought, no wonder Fred was struggling with the lack of George's experienced hands!

"You can re-stock the shelves today," Fred explained, as he led Hermione into the stock cupboard – row upon row of colourfully packaged products and tantalising smells embraced her as she stepped over the threshold, "It'll be easier than diving in headfirst at least," he admitted. "Then once you've got the hang of things you can help me at the register and start doing demonstrations and so forth. Sound good?" He asked in an authoritative, no-nonsense business fashion.

Hermione nodded, too stunned at the multitude of inventions around her to really speak. "Sounds good. This is amazing, Fred," she admitted, gesturing to everything around her. "I had no idea you were this successful!"

"Doubt me, did you?" He asked with a wink that told Hermione he was joking. Modestly, he added, "Nah, it's nothing special, really. You'll get used to it sooner or later he added. Anyway, I better go out front and open shop," he announced.

"Just walk around and anything you see dwindling in supply, you'll find more back here. I think we have everything in stock - that is," he thought out loud, much to Hermione's confusion, "if George reordered that Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder like I asked him to…" he trailed off. "Never mind, you should be able to find everything," he reassured the bemused girl in front of him. "If you can't, you know where to find me. Good luck," he beamed, and rushed past Hermione to let the floods of eager jokers into the store.

Hermione had used to think that her job at the Ministry of Magic was taxing and stressful – but she realised as she wiped the perspiration off her brow after she'd fetched yet _another_ crate of Dungbombs from the storeroom, that her job wasn't a fraction as stressful as what Fred and George dealt with on a daily basis. The shop seemed to be constantly alive – humming with the excited chatter of students and adults alike as they perused the available products and the steady clink and ring of the cash register, as products were bagged and sold faster than you could say Pygmy Puff.

Fred had been running around like a maniac all day, except unlike Hermione, he hadn't even broken a sweat. Hermione had to admit she was impressed – his entrepreneurial skills went far further than she'd initially thought, as she watched from the sidelines as he charmed the young witches cooing over the fluffy pet section, or stood staring at the love potions longingly. Heaven knows how many female witches came in just to chat to the boisterous twin; Hermione couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as Fred flirted unabashedly with every XX chromosomed customer. She shook her head – she was being silly, she told herself. First and foremost, Fred wasn't hers to be jealous of in the first place, and it was his _job_ to be charming. And a bloody good job he did of it! He raved like a little boy on Christmas morning to the budding pranksters, taking their time to pick from the selection of Skiving Snackboxes, and barely anyone left without a Weasley bag bursting with products.

Lunch time seemed to take years to arrive, but when it finally did, Hermione collapsed with relief as the door sign changed automatically from "Open" to "Closed". Fred snuck up behind her, making the tired witch jump as he did so.

"Whatcha, 'Mione," he'd beamed. "How are you holding up?" he enquired, proffering her one of Molly Weasley's famous sandwiches.

"Never better," smiled Hermione, even though she wouldn't admit it, she felt like she'd ran a marathon, her feet hurt that much. But she wasn't a quitter, and she didn't need to give Fred a chance to gloat, so she stoically resolved to handle the rest of the day.

"What do you think?" Fred had asked, and Hermione couldn't help but think she could detect a twinge of nervousness in his voice. She swallowed the bite she was eating before turning to regard the man next to her.

"Magical, Fred," She'd whispered honestly, and Fred had grinned, his eyes sparkling as they'd locked onto Hermione's.

Hermione wasn't one to dwell on situations, but her brain adamantly kept telling her that Fred Weasley had been about to kiss her. That was, of course, until the shop bell rang and shattered that little fantasy, which Hermione couldn't help but replay over and over in her head.

Angelina Johnson had tossed her hair like some kind of show-horse, Hermione thought bitterly, as she watched as the International Quidditch star threw her arms around her boyfriend, smothering him in kisses. At least Fred had the decency to throw Hermione an apologetic smile over his girlfriend's shoulder, but nonetheless Hermione hadn't been this put out for quite a while.

It was moments like these in which Hermione Jean Granger realised with a sigh that there was absolutely no chance that Fred Weasley would so much as notice a plain girl like herself – not when the likes of Angelina Johnson were around, at least, she admitted to herself. If Angelina was a show horse then Hermione herself was a commonplace donkey, the witch thought bitterly to herself. Angelina was a pretty witch, and had a brilliant figure, Hermione noted with distaste, as the Quidditch player's skirt rose a little too high up the girl's retreated into the storeroom, to sort through the already organised Extendable Ears, not wanting to witness such a vomit inducing display of PDA.

Trade resumed in the afternoon, and Fred barely had a chance to see, let alone speak to Hermione, as the galleons flooded in. Apart from a minor incident – involving the spillage of some unburstable bubbles (hardly very dangerous, anyway) - Hermione's day went to plan. When it came to shutting shop, Fred had held her coat out to her warmly, and waited for her to shrug it on, before locking up the shop, checking and double checking he'd done it properly.

Hermione's mood lifted considerably when Fred took her own dainty hand in his much larger and calloused one, that familiar warm feeling flooding through the young witch at his touch. It was hard to be in a bad mood around the Weasley twin, Hermione conceded in defeat. She'd all but forgotten about Angelina's rude interruption upon their arrival back to the Burrow, and she recounted with an eagerness that rivalled Fred's own, the day's events in the shop.

Fred had ruffled Hermione's hair and said, "I'm proud of you, 'Mione," in what he thought was the privacy of the kitchen, once everyone had retreated to bed. Hermione's insides had squirmed with happiness at the simple gesture, and Molly Weasley smiled curiously to herself at the exchange. Hermione's admiration for her son was growing increasingly apparent, to an expert matchmaker like Molly, at least, and the motherly figure couldn't help but wonder if getting Fred to look out for Hermione had been one of her wisest moves as a parent – for both her son himself, as well as the bushy haired witch that Molly had watched and nourished as she'd grown up into one of the most astounding young women. Molly smiled to herself, planting a kiss on both adults' heads as she bustled into the kitchen, before she climbed the stairs to bed, receiving a loving smile from Hermione in return and a "Gerrof, Mum!" from Fred, which was only to be expected.

Fred was the only Weasley child, apart from Ginny, who still let their mother baby them a little. He still made a fuss of course, whenever his Mum kissed him, or fiddled with his shirt, but he didn't _really_ mind. Now that George was both a Dad and husband, he'd become decidedly less fun, Fred thought bitterly to himself, from where he mused on the careworn sofa in the living room of the burrow. Without realising it, some of his attachment he held with George over their twin link had manifested itself in his newfound relationship with the witch to his right; Fred had opened up and told Hermione things which he didn't share with anyone but his twin, and she had done the same, sharing secrets and thoughts with the mop-headed Weasley which she hadn't even shared with Ron and Harry.

Hermione held out a cup of steaming hot cocoa – a beverage which Fred had taken a particular liking to, especially the way Hermione made it, four marshmallows (two white, two pink) floating atop the sea of chocolate. The duo settled comfortably on the careworn patchwork sofa in the living room. Work had taken its toll on Hermione, Fred noted, as once she'd drunk the last dregs of her chocolate, Hermione's eyelids had fluttered shut and she'd fallen into a peaceful slumber. Fred reached out without thinking, and pushed an unruly curl behind Hermione's ear.

He'd chuckled to himself as his mind wandered back to a spat between the Weasley clan earlier that very summer. Ron, dating Lavendar by this point, for Fred had noticed his and Hermione's relationship hadn't lasted more than a couple of weeks at most, had been very serious when he'd arranged a council of Weasley boys in the front room. He'd been so serious in fact, he'd even _bribed_ Ginny to keep Harry distracted – no mean feat, given that it wasn't exactly a secret that Ron hated the idea of his best friend going anywhere near his sister in _that_ sense. Charlie Weasley – looking tanned and muscular from months in Romania – had slouched on the doorframe, interested in the unfurling situation.

A soon to be married George slouched on one end of the sofa, whilst Fred had taken the other, not really bothered by what ickle Ronniekins had to say, as he doubted it was of much relevance to him. Percy, now reconciled with the rest of the clan, sat awkwardly upright in Arthur's armchair, seeming out of place in his suit and tie (he now worked for Gringotts, having quit his beloved job at the Ministry of Magic). Bill wasn't there, as Fleur had insisted on a second honeymoon in the aftermath of the war, so the couple had jetted off to Portugal for a few weeks. Ron had rubbed his hands together in a business-like fashion, Fred recalled with a smirk, wondering what could possibly be so important for Ron to get so worked up.

It turned out Ron had called the meeting after over-hearing a conversation that had transpired between Percy and Charlie that morning, over breakfast. Apparently, Hermione had been hot gossip that morning, and Percy Weasley had been berating Ron for breaking up with the famously smart Gryffindor. Percy had always had a good rapport with Hermione – as their no nonsense attitudes to being a Prefect had been painstakingly similar, and they held many shared academic interests – and he was shocked when he had heard Hermione and Ron were dating in the first place. Now that it was evident that was over, however, he had been quick to say Hermione was too good for Ron, anyway. Charlie Weasley, unmistakable womaniser, had surprised Ron, apparently, by admitting that Hermione was hot and that if Ron wasn't up for what the feisty witch had to give, then he'd maybe "give it a shot". This had triggered a heated debate between Charlie and Percy, over who Hermione would be better suited unto out of all the Weasley siblings, and apparently, at that point, Ron had heard enough, and made his presence known, much to the discomfort of the older Weasley boys.

Hermione, of course, had no idea that these kinds of conversations were occurring, to the sheer amusement of Fred – following her breakup with Ron she'd buried herself in books as a distraction. Any witch would probably die to be talked about quite so much, but Hermione didn't so much as blink – except for when she turned yet another page, of course. Hermione probably wouldn't notice people were talking about her unless someone wrote a book about it, Fred chuckled to himself. For a smart person, she really could be quite obtuse, he thought, as he smiled fondly at the sleeping witch.

He shook his head, regressing. Back around the point after Ron restarted his relationship with the insufferable Lavendar Brown, Ron had had the audacity, after hearing the conversation that transpired between Charlie and Percy, to tell his brothers he "wasn't quite over Hermione" – to which Percy had smartly enquired as to why he was dating Lavendar, then, only to receive a death glare from the younger Weasley – and that he would see any one of his brothers pursuing his ex-girlfriend and "best friend" as a "breach of brotherly trust, love, and definite sign of betrayal".

Charlie had backed off entirely once he saw how much it meant to Ron, but Percy proved to be slightly more troublesome than expected. Why, he argued, was Ron being so possessive over Hermione when he was doing a pretty darn good job of acting over her, sticking his tongue down Lavendar's throat at every opportunity? Surely it was up to Hermione who she pursued, in a romantic sense, at least? Ron had simply growled, "Leave it", and Percy had shrugged pompously, even though he had no _real_ intention of pursuing the female member of the Golden trio, anyway. He was still hung up on Penelope Clearwater, and had been ever since his Hogwarts days.

Fred had never had anything more than a friendly interest in Hermione. She was always just the girl his brother had somehow bamboozled into being friends with him - but now that Ron had staked his claim over the brunette, it had certainly make the twin sit up a little. Part of Fred's love of pranking stemmed from the fact that it was so blatantly out of bounds – off limits, even. A little tiny part of Fred admitted that Hermione was certainly a new point of interest, after Ron's little outburst. But that little spark had remained supressed by the larger part of Fred that was completely and utterly devoted to the affections of his long term girlfriend, Angelina Johnson.

Tiredness took its toll, and Fred's head lolled back against the sofa, his cup of cocoa slipping out of his hand and into the furry carpet that cushioned the sound it made, preventing the sleeping from stirring. Fred Weasley fell into a dreamless sleep alongside Hermione Jean Granger, until Molly Weasley discovered them there, mouths open and snoring softly, as she came downstairs for her morning cuppa.


	3. She's Quidditch Captain

Chapter Three: She's Quidditch Captain, I'm S.P.E.W. Leader

The work Hermione did at the twins' shop engaged the young witch in a way that her brain hadn't been tested before. Yes, it was physically tiring running backwards and forwards all day every day, attending to the needs of each and every customer, but Hermione loved the keeping busy element of the job. At least she no longer had to feel guilty about having double helpings of Molly Weasley's famous banoffee pie! The long and taxing hours at the shop meant she definitely deserved the food, so feeling completely guilt free, she would slip an extra portion onto her plate after an already huge dinner.

Not only did working for the twins warrant even more of Molly's delicious cooking, but the shop was developing a part of Hermione's brain that had been undernourished for the larger part of her childhood. Growing up an only child, and a child ahead of her own years at that, Hermione had never really been one for practical jokes in her younger years. But the more time Hermione spent in the presence of Fred, rebellious joker and prank extraordinaire, the more of an aptitude she developed for the devious art form.

Given that Weasley Wizard Wheezes was a rapidly expanding business, taking on Hermione as an extra pair of hands wasn't enough – Fred had hired Ali Spokes; a fun-loving wizard two years older than Hermione, and one year older than Fred. He was a genuinely friendly wizard, and not bad looking either, Hermione had deduced from her assessment of him. If Hermione wasn't quite so smitten with a certain redheaded individual, then she'd probably have fancied him – for he was clearly intelligent as well as good looking, and read a lot of books. Not quite as many as Hermione, obviously, however his love for reading certainly scored him some brownie points in the young witch's eyes. It was Ali – who had insisted that no one under any circumstances _ever_ was to call him Alistair, as he hated his name and refused to answer to it – that was the unfortunate subject of many of Hermione's pranks. So far he'd had his hair dyed blue, and his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth for half a day, until Hermione had finally given in and produced the counter curse. She'd even put a humongous spider in his bag upon learning that like Ron, Ali wasn't very fond of the critters.

Fred was impressed; Hermione coming out of her shell was certainly nice to see - he couldn't help but feel sad when the end of Hermione's holiday came around. He'd gotten used to having the Gryffindor Golden girl about the shop to help him – especially now that George was now constantly distracted by his new daughter.

She'd already done wonders for the shop – deducing the best displays to ensure maximum number of customers coming into the shops – and she'd organised the messy stockroom to beyond order. Fred had laughed to himself thinking that if Madame Pince ever died, and Hogwarts was desperately in need of a new librarian, then Fred would be the first to recommend her for the job. Her organisational skills had been rubbing off on him, and Fred had nearly given Molly a heart attack, when for the first time in his twenty years of life, his bedroom floor had been visible when his Mum had gone in to put his robes away. Molly had backed out of his room, muttering to herself in shock, to which Fred had laughed heartedly at when Ginny had told him about it, later.

So although Hermione had already resolved to work at the shop whenever her work schedule would allow it, Fred Weasley knew with certainty that he'd miss the bushy haired witch once she returned to the Ministry. He'd given her a large – not to mention expensive - bouquet of carnations (her favourite flower) as a thank you present, and they now stood pride of place on Hermione's dresser. She'd blushed furiously when Fred had presented them to her at dinner, in front of all his family and the kiss he'd placed on her cheek had made her skin tingle for hours afterwards. She'd hoped no one had noticed the broad grin that she hadn't been able to keep off her face for the rest of the evening, but little did she know that it didn't go unnoticed by Molly Weasley. That woman saw everything.

It was with reluctance, after two weeks of jam packed activity at the twin's shop, that Hermione returned to her actual job. Standing in front of her bedroom mirror, she straightened her pencil skirt and smoothed down her blouse, surveying herself with a critical eye. She gave up on her hair, which was particularly frizzy compared to normal, piling it up in a messy bun. She gathered a mass of paperwork, shoving it briskly into a briefcase, as she ran downstairs, grabbed a bit of toast (before the Weasley boys devoured all the bread in the house) and apparated to work.

Susan Bones – Hermione's second in command – had smiled warmly at Hermione as she placed a much needed cup of coffee in front of her ex schoolmate – knowing that the dark black liquid would keep her boss running smoothly all day. "There's a report that just came in about a Percy Cavendish? He apparated home from the pub unaware a Muggle was watching – there needs to be memory alterations done there," bustled Susan, as she arranged a series of reports on the desk in front of Hermione. "The rest of the cases are fairly straightforward, but I'll leave them there for you. Give me a shout if you need anything," she explained, smiling warmly.

"Thanks, Suze," Hermione beamed, as she prepared herself to knuckle down to work for the day, not used to the setting of having an actual desk – and a chance to _sit down_ , nonetheless! She was far too used to being on her feet all day, now – no thanks to Fred and his hectic shop.

Even though Hermione's job was demanding and interesting – and desirable to many Ministry employees – she couldn't help but let her mind wander. What would Fred be up to now? Had been the question she'd asked herself, as she watched the hands on the clock crawl by at a snail's pace. It was about one 'o' clock, so he'd probably just shut for lunch, she mused. She had momentarily considered apparating over to say hi, before realising that there was a busy case being dealt with, and she couldn't afford to abandon her team, as they were disorganised at the best of times. Sighing, Hermione had turned her attention back to her work, and devoted herself to the cause as the remaining hours crawled by.

When Hermione finally got back to the Burrow – two hours after she was meant to finish her shift, for the case had ran overtime – Molly was washing the dishes, and Fred was sat at the kitchen table poring over some paperwork whilst the other boys played Quidditch outside.

"Your dinner's on the side," Molly had fussed over her, "I did tell the boys to wait for you before they ate but their appetites got the better of them," she explained apologetically. "A simple warming charm should do the trick."

Hermione pulled out a chair opposite Fred, and he looked up as the furniture scraped against the linoleum. "Wotcha, 'Mione," he said, in a tone not dissimilar to the late Tonks, and he threw her a wink once he'd made sure his Mum was suitably occupied amongst the suds.

"Hey," she'd smiled, tucking into Molly's scrumptious rendition of Corned Beef Hash. "Miss me?" She'd teased, and Fred had chuckled deeply.

"Course we did," Fred admitted, "Ali and I were lost without you – mainly because the store is now so ordered that we couldn't find anything we were looking for," he laughed, "But yeah, I missed you today." He sorted the papers in front of him into a stack, and with a wave of his wand sent them upstairs to his room, no doubt. Turning his full attention to Hermione, he asked, "How was work?"

"Boring," Hermione had groaned, and Molly's ear had perked up, curiously, for it wasn't every day that Hermione found work anything but riveting.

As if reading his mother's mind, Fred had teased, "What?! Did I hear you right? Workaholic Hermione Jean Granger found work _boring_?" And Hermione had shot him a withering look.

"I guess I missed working at the shop," she gave in. "There's something about what you do that's pretty hard to forget about."

"Well I am pretty unforgettable," Fred had joked.

"Not you, silly," Hermione grinned, "I meant the shop. It's just so full of energy and creativity at all times, I guess I just got used to having fun," she conceded, "Not that my job isn't fun," she'd added hastily – not fooling anyone.

"Well quit your job then," Fred had joked, not thinking in a million years that would ever be a remote possibility. Hermione Granger, S.P.E.W founder and dedicated bookworm and workaholic had spent every waking moment of her life studying for exams – that was, when she hadn't been defeating evil wizards, Fred thought to himself – in order to get a decent job with a thick wage packet. She was hardly going to throw that all away to come work for some _joke shop_ – even if it was _his_ shop and a very good one at that. Fred Weasley hadn't been banking on what Hermione said next.

"You know, that's exactly what I was thinking of doing," she said, nonchalantly. "I mean, you need the extra hands now that George is busy and I do love working there…" she trailed off at the look of pure astonishment that was currently plastered on Fred's face. "What?"

"You're serious?" Fred had asked, and Hermione had shrugged – neither one noticing that Molly had long since stopped washing up, and was stood listening to the conversation that was currently transpiring. "You'd give your job up, everything you've worked for, to work for some crummy joke shop?"

"I hardly think you're being fair," Hermione stated bossily, "By no means is it a crummy joke shop – your products are genius," she'd exclaimed, enthusiastically, bringing a large grin to Fred's face. "But I don't see why not," the witch continued, "I mean don't get me wrong, I love working for the ministry, but I can't help thinking that I ought to get a bit more enjoyment out of it. So yeah, I think I'll probably quit." Fred was still staring at her, open mouthed, so she continued – not being fond of awkward silence. "That is, if you'll have me as a full time member of staff, of course," she'd added, hastily.

"Of course, it would be an honour to have the Brightest Witch of all time working for us," Fred beamed, "Plus George'll be delighted, too. But are you sure?" He'd asked seriously, thinking Hermione didn't quite understand the implications of abandoning her hard-earned post at the ministry. Her pay check would probably take a significant knock, he mused, and working at the shop really _was_ quite stressful. He shrugged inwardly to himself; if she could take on the Dark Lord (for he had figured Ron and Harry certainly hadn't been the brains behind the operation) then she could certainly handle working for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, he grinned.

Hermione had nodded resolutely, and that was that - there was no arguing with her, nothing that anyone could say that would change her mind. Hermione Jean Granger was now a full time salesperson at the most popular Joke Shop in Diagon Alley – and she couldn't be happier.

Not wanting to waste any time, Hermione had begun work later that week, after her resignation had been received with great shock by her colleagues at the ministry. Everyone had been thrown, Hermione Granger giving up her prestigious job to go work in a joke shop? Surely that in itself was a joke – but no, Hermione had cleared her desk, firm in her decision, and swanned out of her office. The gifts she'd received were nice – bunches of flowers, expensive chocolate (which Ron polished off the moment they arrived at the Burrow) and posh wine – but they seemed second place compared to the wilting vase of flowers on her dresser, bought by Fred. Reluctantly, Hermione had swapped the old flowers for the fresh, keeping one carnation heads, intending to press it and put it in her journal, as she incinerated the waste with her wand.

Ali had been delighted to see Hermione take up work again at the shop, this time on a more permanent basis. He'd fussed over her all day, making her a fresh cup of coffee the second she'd finished the dregs of her last one – and he'd even been as kind to hang her coat up for her upon her arrival into the shop. It was bizarre, being in such high demand, but she'd settled into the familiar role with ease – adjusting the stock cupboard so that it was easier to navigate, signing off a shipment of Wheezes products to be sent to a rich American wizarding family, and carrying out a successful demonstration of Ton-Tongue toffee. Fred was relieved to have such expert hands about the shop, and to show his gratitude, that evening he proposed a family camping trip to celebrate Hermione's new role in the business.

Molly had thought it a delightful idea when he'd casually mentioned it to her, and she had taken it upon herself to organise the whole thing – rigging tents up down by the lake which ran by the Burrow and preparing a multitude of sandwiches and foods which she knew her sons would manage to devour, no problem. The date was set and ran by each member of the family – Ron had asked his mum if Lavendar could come, to which she had responded sternly that there would be no hanky-panky, as Lavendar would have to have a separate tent. Ron's ears had stayed red for ages afterwards, and Hermione had laughed to herself at his blatant embarrassment. She resolved to stay away from the simpering sickly sweet girl, as although Hermione would never admit it, she still held grudges against the gossip queen for many angst filled months at Hogwarts, back when Hermione had found herself pining after Ron. Even Charlie and Bill happened to be around, a rare event, to have all the Weasleys in one place, and Percy had supposed that he could attend – but at the first sign of silliness, he would leave. Hermione had snorted – Percy was so up himself, he really ought to relax and have some fun, it would do him the world of good.

Everyone was holding out until the end of the week – having persuaded Molly and Arthur to go on a romantic weekend away (to which the tired parents had jumped at, given the rare offering of peace) – everyone was looking forward to a weekend of no fussing Mum, or worrying Dad. Fred had been busy with George (who was secretly a little glad to get away from his screaming new-born, as much as he adored her) devising ways of keeping everybody entertained, and were hoping that the camping trip would be good fun. Thursday seemed to crawl by at a snail's pace – as did Friday – for both Hermione and Fred's eyes darted to the clock, almost willing it to go faster, but it having the adverse effect.

Finally, Friday evening had arrived – and all the Weasleys had hugged Molly and Arthur impatiently, before they flooed to Venice for the weekend – not until after Molly had threatened to come home at the first sign of trouble, though, but Hermione had smiled to herself, and reassured Mrs Weasley that she'd keep the peace. The second the green flames had faded, there had been a unanimous cheer, that had rung through the crowded kitchen.

Charlie, taking a break from Romania for the weekend, was looking especially tanned and relaxed. He was the first one ready, with his dragon hide bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder, as he waited for everyone to be done gathering their things. Ron was next, until he disappeared to pilfer some biscuits from the pantry, which left Hermione sat at the worn wooden table with the Dragon tamer.

"So you're working with Fred now, huh?" Charlie had asked, conversationally, and Hermione had nodded enthusiastically, much to Charlie's amusement. "How's that going for you?"

Hermione had proceeded to rant about every single going on in the shop over the course of the past week, not so much as stopping for breath, so engaged in her ramblings that she didn't notice the presence of Fred, who appeared to her right, his eyes sparkling with delight as Hermione raved about his and George's pride and joy. Charlie had chuckled, looking up at Fred, and alerting Hermione to his brother's presence. Hermione had stopped, embarrassed, but Fred had grinned.

"Oh don't stop on my account, 'Mione," Fred had grinned, "I was rather enjoying that little ego boost you were giving me, there," and the trio had laughed in unison.

"Oh no, I do think I should stop there," Hermione had giggled, "If your head gets any bigger we won't be able to get out the door to go camping."

Charlie had laughed loudly at that, and Fred, unable to think of a relevant comeback, had been resigned to a bemused silence, as they waited for the others to join them.

Still being summer, the evenings were long and warm, taking a good while before a blanket of darkness fell over the clearing in which the tents were pitched. Bill had sensibly busied himself when they'd got here, gathering firewood and building a respectable blaze, which they were all now thankful for, given that there was a chilly breeze. Roasting marshmallows on sticks, everybody sat round the fire, chatting animatedly and relaxing, thankful for the break from all their hectic schedules.

Ron and Lavendar had returned from a walk around the clearing looking like two naughty school children, their clothes bunched up and rumpled in tell-tale fashion – for which they'd been ratted out immediately by an amused Charlie, and the couple had since been the source of entertainment all evening. Harry and Ginny were sat especially close on a log, looking pretty lovesick, as they gazed into each other's eyes longingly – they too had been a source of amusement for the older Weasley boys, that was, until Ginny had threatened to hex Bill with one of her famous Bat-Bogey hexes, and everyone had been stunned into silence. Fred was lounging against a fallen tree trunk, popping marshmallow after marshmallow into his seemingly bottomless pit of a stomach. Angelina, thankfully, hadn't been able to make it, for she had Quidditch training the next morning, and hadn't wanted a night of sleeping on uneven ground to upset her performance.

Hermione had tried not to snort with laughter when Fred had explained the absence of his girlfriend – but she couldn't help but feel relieved, too. Hermione, able to get on with just about anyone (except maybe Lavendar) really found it hard to relax and be herself around Angelina – something, she suspected, which was related to her dislike of the clause "Fred's girlfriend", which was frequently used to describe her.

But Hermione was comfortable around the other Weasleys as if they were her own siblings. Percy, for whom Hermione had always held a soft spot for, had been funny upon the discovery of Ron's randy display with Lavendar, and she'd stifled a giggle as he'd lectured Ron about proper conduct, which Ron had responded with a timeless, "sod off Perce". Hermione also got on well enough with Bill, even though she knew him the least of the Weasley boys; when she'd spent time at Shell Cottage during their pursuit of Voldemort's horcruxes, she'd learnt of his expansive literature interests. Since then, she had held many interesting conversations with him, and couldn't fault his calm exterior and thoughtful mind, which she supposed came with being the oldest of such a large family.

Charlie though, Hermione had come to know was her second favourite Weasley brother – after Fred, of course – for he had this inexplicable charm which had gotten under Hermione's skin. He was recognised as a universal womaniser, but he was funny like the twins, smart like Bill, attractive - like all the Weasleys, and sensible like Percy. He could always be counted on to ensure you had a good time, which was why his suggestion of a game of Poker before bed sounded like a very good idea to Hermione, and to just about everyone else who was gathered around the campfire.

After a little bit of seating readjustment, with Fred transfiguring the log he was leaning against into a comfier lounger, which he offered Hermione a perch on, and Bill transforming a rock into a smooth flat surface they could lay the cards on, Charlie produced a pack of playing cards (which, no surprises, had dragons on). The dragon tamer shuffled and dealt quickly, sensing the eager anticipation around the circle to let the game begin.

The Weasleys were known for being competitive, whilst Hermione was known for being smart. Harry probably didn't stand a chance (nor did Lavendar, really), but he made up for that in his eagerness for the game to get underway. This could be an interesting sequence of events, Hermione had grinned to herself, as she took time to survey each and every one of her opponents.

Bill sat opposite her, legs crossed, hand of cards fanned out lazily in one hand, yet angled downwards. He'd shoved his hair up into a pony tail – an action, which over the years Hermione had learnt meant he meant business and fully intended to win the game. She'd supressed a smile. He was staring into the fire as if in immense concentration, but an expert eye could tell he was just bored, which didn't surprise Hermione. Bill was a dab hand at poker – he would be the one she would have to beat.

Glancing at his cards briefly, and seeming unconcerned, Ron had reached for a large handful of marshmallows, which he proceeded to shove in his mouth, one after the other. Lavendar hadn't even looked at her cards yet, she seemed too busy gazing at Ron, watching him with unnerving adoration as if his pig-like manners were parallel to those of the Queen of England.

Harry was stroking Ginny's hand with his thumb, gazing at his cards with steely resolve, whilst Ginny leant her head on her boyfriend's shoulder in a seemingly loving manner, taking a sneaky peak at Harry's cards as she did so. Hermione supressed a giggle – Ginny had certainly grown up knowing how to make the most of what was given to her, and here Harry had presented her with _far_ too good an opportunity for the younger witch to miss.

Percy pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, having already looked at his cards. He arranged the pile of coins in front of him – for the group was playing with money, instead of chips, which was far easier – into neat little piles of change, waiting as everyone inspected their own hands and decided their method of play. Percy was also quite good, Hermione had to admit, thinking about when she'd first learnt to play Poker with the Weasleys. You would probably assume that Percy would disapprove of the game, but it turned out Poker was somewhat of a guilty pleasure for the ex-Prefect. Percy had in fact been the one to teach Hermione how to play!

George was whistling a _Weird Sisters_ song – something new of theirs which had only just been released, but Hermione couldn't for the life of her remember the song name. He didn't seem fazed by the card game, but Hermione knew he was an expert when it came to the Poker face – so she'd keep a watchful eye on him for any giveaways. Charlie was also slouching, like Bill, and he had a lazy grin on his face as he picked at his fingernails. He, like Hermione, was surveying each one of his competitors. Their eyes met, and Charlie winked unashamedly at the witch, causing a faint pink tinge to colour Hermione's cheeks. She'd never get used to that. Charlie's cards had also been discarded, and Hermione presumed he had already looked at them, not liking to dwell on his cards in fear of giving his game away. Hermione had regarded just about everyone in the circle now.

That brought her to Fred.

She saved Fred until last, and when her eyes fell on him – subtly, for she didn't want to alert him to her staring – she forgot to breathe. The flickering fire caught the pale nature of his skin, perfectly, and it shimmered a Gryffindor gold. His eyes were alive with excitement of the Poker match, and his hair - every shade of red and orange in the fading light - resembled tongues of fire itself. He sat mere centimetres away from her, completely and utterly oblivious to her sheer existence, much yet affections, and Hermione sighed to herself. Life sucked.


	4. Hey, Isn't This Easy?

Chapter Four: Hey, isn't this easy?

Hermione was feeling relatively confident about the odds of her winning at least one of the games that they'd be playing that evening, for only Percy and Bill really offered a _real_ threat. Fred and George and Charlie were a slight challenge at most, and for the Gryffindor golden girl, that was more encouraging than anything. But Hermione struggled to wipe her face clear of emotions – even if she had a good hand, her game could easily be ruined by a slip of her facial expression. Percy had complimented her on her poker face when he'd first taught her – apparently she was a natural. That would be put to the test now; she mused, as she realised this was the first time she was playing for money. That made her game tactic that much more crucial – she had something to lose. Then again, so did everyone else.

Bill had dealt the first hand of cards, and the intention was that the player to the right of the previous dealer would be the one to deal in the next round. The players took consecutive turns placing their bets into the middle of the conjured table. Hermione gazed absent-mindedly into the flame, and it took Fred nudging her arm to dislodge her out of her daydream. She'd gasped at the contact, a jolt of electricity surging up her arm, and she blushed, embarrassed to be caught not paying attention as Fred told her to ante up.

Hermione looked at the pile of money in the middle of the makeshift table, and seeing everyone had placed a single gold galleon in the centre, she followed suit. Charlie was drumming his hands on his knees now, almost as if he was excited for the game to begin. Hermione took this to mean that he had a good hand. Then again, he could just be bluffing, knowing that Hermione paid particular attention to the mannerisms of her fellow players. She shrugged, she wouldn't know until the bets folded.

Hermione mentally checked off the cards in her hand in her head. Looking at her cards was something she preferred to do a minimum of – less to give away, that way – so she recounted them mentally instead. The five cards she'd been dealt weren't especially overwhelming; two of clubs, jack of hearts, nine and seven of spades, and a five of diamonds.

Once everyone had placed their bets, a significant pile of galleons in the centre of the table, with only Ginny folding before the ante was upped. Lavendar had looked confused as she stared at her hand, then she shrugged, and added her galleon to the pile, and Hermione had chuckled to herself at the girl's distinct lack of intelligence. Harry had wanted three cards, and Ginny had folded so she sat back and surveyed the game. Percy took two, whilst George only took one. Ron took two, and Lav-Lav (Hermione winced at the nickname) took three as well, discarding three from her hand.

Charlie and Fred both took three, and then it was Hermione's turn. She picked out the two of clubs and jack of hearts, and was passed two new cards by Bill, who had dealt. She raised them to her eye line nonchalantly, and glanced at them once. Eight of clubs and the six of diamonds were the new additions – which; if Hermione wasn't mistaken, was a straight. A good hand, first round as well, she congratulated herself mentally. She made a conscious effort to hide her excitement, chanting "Poker face" again and again, enabling herself to hold her composure.

Glancing up, she noted Bill was blatantly staring at her. He met her eyes head on, and she stared at him challengingly, not giving anything away. Bill quirked his eyebrow at Hermione, but she remained impassive. Bill then folded, glancing at the witch, knowingly, as he did so. Harry raised another galleon, and both Percy and George met the bet, but didn't raise. Ron raised a further galleon, and then Lavendar folded, looking utterly bemused. Charlie, Fred and Hermione all met the bet, but didn't raise it any further. Bill, having already folded, called the hand. Everyone laid their cards out on the table.

Harry held two pairs; of aces and tens. Percy had a pair of hearts and that was it, and his expression was a bit put out. George had a pair of twos, and Ron a straight consisting of 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. He was grinning smugly, and Hermione regarded him with loathing. Charlie and Fred held three queens and three kings accordingly. Everyone then looked at Hermione's hand, and it took the witch a few moments to gather that she'd won the hand. She clapped her hands together excitedly, as she gathered her winnings.

"Luck," Ron grumbled to the amusement of the rest of the group. Ron always was the sorest loser, and always had been ever since they grew up.

"Well played Hermione," Percy conceded, as he nodded his head towards Hermione, who beamed.  
"You're only congratulating her because you taught her how to play," pointed out Charlie, teasingly. "She makes your teaching ability look good," and the whole group chuckled. Fred was staying quiet, Hermione noted, yet she shrugged and thanked Percy – his teaching had evidently rubbed off.

This time it was Harry's turn to deal, and he made a mess of the shuffling, cards flying everywhere. Ginny rubbed his arm sympathetically, before turning and rolling her eyes at the rest of the group. Her boyfriend was such a klutz.

"See if you can do it again, eh, 'Mione," Fred had teased, jolting Hermione out of the reverie she'd just entered, watching as Harry had dealt out the cards, "Or if that was just a fluke."

"Fred Weasley," Hermione had jibed, "Why, you aren't _worried_ , are you?"

Fred looked at her pointedly, "I can read you like a book, 'Mione," he admitted. "So no, you don't pose much of a threat to me."

"We'll see," Hermione had countered boldly, to the amusement of the rest of the participants – those who weren't currently sucking face, i.e. Ron and Lavendar.

Hermione glanced down at her hand, and couldn't help but feel disappointed. She had two threes and the rest of her cards were worthless. She placed her ante without a reminder from Fred this time, a plan formulating in her mind. Usually, with such a pointless hand, one would fold early before you lost too much money. Yet Hermione felt like she had something to prove; that she needed to win the second round in order to get the attention of Fred. Adrenalin began coursing through her, and she smiled secretively to herself. This caught the attention of Charlie, who had been studying the Gryffindor without her realising. Charlie then folded, everyone else having placed a galleon in the centre of the table.

With the exception of Charlie, everyone was in. George, Lavendar and Fred all asked for two cards, whereas Harry, Ginny, Lavendar and Ron all took one. Percy and Fred took three, and Hermione asked for three too – which Harry had passed her. Hermione glanced at the cards – not having to focus especially, being in the knowledge that she was going to try and bluff her way to victory.

Hermione put her acting ability to the test, doing her best to try and make it seem as if she was trying to supress a smile. Out of her peripheral vision, she noticed George and Percy looking at her, and she had to struggle not to break out into an actual grin. She looked down at her hand again, knowing all too well that George and Percy would think it suspicious. Having been right in her assumption, both George and Percy, followed by Harry, all folded as the ante was raised.

When it came to Hermione's turn, she'd practically hurled four galleons into the centre, with a triumphant smile. The Weasleys had all looked knowingly at one another – being so confident about raising the bet by such a significant amount clearly meant that Hermione held a good hand. In turn, Lavendar and Ron had conceded defeat, and folded, and then they were followed by Ginny and Bill. That left Hermione and Fred the only two still in the game. Fred raised by a galleon, staring analytically at the bushy haired brunette sitting next to him. Hermione raised by two, quirking her eyebrow at Fred as if challenging him. That was enough for Fred to crumble, and he folded. Reluctantly, everyone pushed Hermione's second round of winnings towards her.

Ginny gathered everyone's cards together for the third round, but when she took Hermione's hand she laughed, as she unveiled them to the rest of the group.

Hermione butted in, "Hey, Ginny," she moaned, "I didn't think you had to show your cards if everyone else had folded," but it was too late. Everyone in the circle had seen Hermione's hand, and knew the worthless combination of cards it contained.

"A pair of threes?!" Fred exclaimed, in a pure state of disbelief, "You only had a bloody pair of threes? After all that?"

Bill the curse breaker was the first one to realise the gravity of Hermione's bluffing, and he shook his head, chuckling deeply. "Four galleons on a pair of threes," he laughed, "That's one risky move, Miss Granger," grinning, "Yet I must congratulate you, well played. You fooled even the best of us it seemed."

"What on earth were you thinking?" asked Ron, as he stared at the witch.

"It's called bluffing, Ron," Hermione spat coldly. "Please don't insult my intelligence in thinking that the art of the Poker face extended beyond my capabilities?"

Ron retreated into silence, and the next round began on a tense note, with Ginny shuffling and dealing out the cards.

Everyone had just received their hands, when Ron flung his down, sending everyone else's cards flying everywhere, from the gust of air that was a result of the impact of his cards slamming down on the table. Ron got up angrily, "I hate this game, come on Lav, we'll leave them too it," he spat, holding his hand out to his girlfriend, before storming off.

Bill raised his eyebrow at the outburst. "Is he always like that?"

Harry nodded apologetically, "Yeah sorry about that. He's developed a sort of inferiority complex," he explained. "It started at school – basically he beats himself up every time Hermione is better than him at something." Bill nodded in understanding, chuckling in amusement at his little brother's immature antics.

"I'm guessing Ron beats himself up a lot then," Fred cut in, "Because as far as I can see, Hermione's pretty darn good at everything," he grinned at Hermione's, whose cheeks flushed at the compliment.

Ginny yawned, and Harry slung an arm around his girlfriend's shoulder. "I think Ginny and I are going to take a stroll down by the lake before bed," he announced. Fred and George smiled at the couple – they had been the Weasleys that approved most of Ginny and Harry's relationship. After all, Harry _had_ been the one to fund the twins' business – and neither brother would be quite so successful now if it wasn't for him. Charlie dipped his head in acknowledgement, whereas Percy pushed his glasses up his nose and made to give the couple a lecture, but Ginny shut him up with a pointed stare, even in her tired state.

Bill was the only one that actually spoke; Hermione was too busy daydreaming again, "Night guys. Sleep well, don't stay up _too_ late," he fussed, in the big brother manner that everyone was accustomed to.

"We won't," simpered Ginny, sweetly, and everyone laughed as she planted a kiss on Harry's cheek.

The other Weasley's retired to bed pretty soon after that; Fred was the only one who stayed gazing into the flames, next to Hermione. Having developed his nocturnal habit with the Gryffindor, he had difficulty sleeping if he went to bed too early, anyway. The duo sat together in amicable silence, as they gazed into the flames.

Hermione was the one who spoke first, "It's pretty isn't it," gesturing to the fire. Fred nodded, turning a marshmallow on a skewer above the flames to ensure even coverage. "It reminds me of the hearth fires at Hogwarts," She admitted, "I miss Hogwarts."

"Yeah," Fred smiled nostalgically. "I know you wouldn't think I would, but so do I. In a really weird way. I miss planning our next prank," he grinned at the memory, "I miss your lectures about how inappropriate it was to employ first years to test our products. I miss the _food_ ," Fred moaned, before hastily adding, "Not that my Mum's cooking isn't great, of course," he looked around warily as if his Mum was eavesdropping, causing Hermione to laugh. "I miss hunting for a new secret passage, or deliberately tripping over Mrs Norris. I miss winding up Professor Flitwick, and how George and I always used to try and liven up Potions and get Snape to smile," Fred sighed.

"It seems so long ago," Hermione noted, and Fred nodded. "Before too long we'll all have grown up and moved out of the Burrow as well."

Fred cleared his throat, and Hermione turned to regard the redhead. "What?" she asked him. He was looking flustered.

"About that," Fred began nervously. "I'm thinking about moving out into the flat above the shop," he admitted.

A thousand emotions coursed through Hermione's being. He was moving? That meant no more late nights curled up on the couch with one another. No more heart to hearts over her trademark hot chocolate; no gossiping under the cherry blossom trees in the front yard whilst everyone else played Quidditch. Why was he moving? Did he want to get away from her? Had she done something? Should she say something, ask him to say?

All the emotions flitting through her being could have easily been integrated into a simple, "Don't go Fred, I need you." But instead, the distinct opposite came out of the Gryffindor's mouth, with the appropriate amount of conviction, too, to leave Fred clueless as to Hermione's real feelings on the matter. "Oh my God, that's great Fred!" She exclaimed, "You must be so excited, getting a place of your own and all."

Fred relaxed noticeably after observing Hermione's reaction. Silently, Hermione was kicking herself mentally, wishing that she'd said something whilst she had had the opportunity to. "Yeah, I guess I am," he admitted, "It's a little crowded for my liking at the Burrow," he admitted. "And I am nearly twenty," he added. "It's probably better to get out of Mum's house now," he chuckled, "Or else she'll have me in her clutches forever." Hermione laughed at this – picturing a forty-year-old Fred having his Mum pour milk on his morning cereal.

"Does your Mum know you're moving?" Hermione asked conversationally. This whole conversation was far too depressing for her liking – the point of this camping trip had been to enjoy herself, not to be subjected to bad news like this.

"No," Fred laughed nervously, "I'm going to have to break it to her soon, though; I plan on moving in a week or two. You're the first person I've told though, 'Mione," he admitted, "So you should feel honoured," Hermione smiled wryly. Well at least he was thinking of her as a confidant, she supposed. That was something. Her eyebrows shot up as he added, "Even George doesn't know."

"Is Angelina going to move in with you?" Hermione asked the question which she was dreading hearing the answer to.

"No," Fred said – was that a hint of dejection in his voice, Hermione wondered? But upon hearing his answer, she relaxed significantly. Well that was something at least. "Angie's got her own place close to her training ground," he explained, "She doesn't like sleeping over because it messes with her training schedule. She doesn't like spending much time with me lately, full stop," he sighed, and Hermione shrugged apologetically, not really knowing what it was that she should say to that.

"How's your love life?" Questioned Fred and Hermione find it hard to supress a giggle. If only he knew, she sighed.

"Pretty non-existent," she admitted.

"Ahh," Fred said, tactfully, and Hermione laughed.

"Yeah I've not had anything since me and Ron," she told Fred. "He's got Lavendar, and I've got no one," she sighed dejectedly.

Fred slung a friendly shoulder around her, pulling her closer in the dwindling light of the fire. He ran his hand up and down her arm, she was wearing flimsy robes after all, and he'd noticed her teeth chattering, she was freezing. Hermione relaxed into his embrace, and she rested her head on the older boy's shoulder, her head rising and falling in accordance with his breathing.

"You're a beautiful witch, 'Mione," Fred murmured, "I'm surprised you've not been whisked away by your Prince Charming yet. You're the whole package; funny, smart, gorgeous." He smiled down at the witch in his arms. "It beats me that is for sure."

"You really think so?" Hermione asked, timidly.

"Without a shadow of a doubt," Fred admitted. "Someone will come along sooner or later, just you wait and see," he reassured.

"I hope so." Hermione's voice was a mere whisper now, and tiredness was beginning to overcome her. Her breathing slowed, and her eyelids fluttered shut, the rise and fall of Fred's own breathing sending her into a dreamless sleep – a better sleep than shed had in ages. She looked so peaceful laying there on his shoulder, Fred didn't have the heart to wake her, and send her off to bed. Reaching for his wand, he summoned a tartan quilt, which with one hand (for the other was wrapped round Hermione) and a degree of difficulty, Fred slung the blanket over himself and his fellow Gryffindor, succumbing to sleep himself, in the dying light of the fire.

It was Percy who found the sleeping pair the next morning – he had always been an early riser – and he supposed they ought to be thankful it had been him and not Ron who came across them. After Ron's meeting where he declared Hermione his property, he doubted that Ron would take too kindly to the sleeping duo. In sleep, they had both shifted so that Fred was lying flat on the dusty ground, his head propped up by the log that he'd leant against in the previous night's game. Hermione was laid next to Fred, her head resting on his rising and falling chest, hair fanned out across his torso, and her leg was hitched across Fred's, his hand grasping her close to him, as it rested on the small of her back, where it traced delicate circles, even in slumber.

Hermione woke first, nestling into her warm, yet firm and steadily moving pillow. She'd disentangled herself from the sleeping twin with a blush, realising that she must have fallen asleep on him. She noted the tartan quilt – a sign that Fred must have been willing to remain in their somewhat compromising position; if he was awake enough to conjure a blanket then surely he could have returned her to her tent? Not that the Gryffindor was complaining of course, for she had just experienced the best night's sleep she'd had in ages – despite the crick in her neck she'd received after a night on the hard ground.

Sitting up, Hermione blushed even further as she realised Percy was already awake and watching the scene before him with a look of curiosity. "Morning," she whispered, as she finished disentangling herself from Fred, and made her way to join Percy by the fire.

He handed her a fresh mug of coffee, and she accepted it gratefully, taking a big gulp and then regretting the decision to do so immediately, as she scalded her tongue.

"Good night sleep?" Percy asked teasingly, nodding over to where Fred was still passed out.

A grin crossed Hermione's face without her thinking, and she blushed some more. "I guess you could say that," she shrugged, non-committedly.

"What's going on with you two?" Percy asked inquisitively, yet friendly, and Hermione shrugged; knowing she could trust Percy as he had been kind to her in her first few years at Hogwarts and seemed to rise above the family drama.

"Nothing," She sighed, pushing a sleep frizzed lock of hair behind her ear. "He's going out with Angelina, and I don't see that changing any time soon," her tone was dejected and spoke volumes.

"Ahh, I see," Percy grimaced, "Unrequited love," he squeezed Hermione's shoulder affectionately, before pushing his rimmed spectacles further up his nose. She didn't see why he didn't just cast a spell to hold them in place – or shrink them, so that they fit the bridge of his nose better. She shrugged. Percy's fashion decisions were hardly high on the list of things Hermione ought to be concerned about.

"I know the feeling," sighed Percy, and Hermione turned to look at the ex-prefect.

"You do?" Hermione's tone was laced with surprise, and she made no note to hide it.

"Yeah," Percy winced. "I like this really great girl but she's too hung up on one of my brothers to notice me," he told her, staring at the Gryffindor pointedly.

A sinking realisation hit her, and Hermione found her cheeks tinging pink. Percy's admission was pretty clear to see – and it had evidently taken a lot of guts to come clean, as well, for his hand was drumming impatiently on his thigh – which Hermione had come to know he did when nervous.

"You do?" Hermione asked sheepishly, "Well I'm sure she thinks you're a great guy, Percy. I mean, you're smart, funny, good looking," She added, for she knew Percy was self-conscious about being the only Weasley brother that had to wear glasses.

"You think?" Percy had grinned, a rare sight indeed. But then his smile fell, "That's not enough for her though, right."

"I'm sorry Percy," Hermione winced, squeezing his leg apologetically. "We can't help who we fall for."

"Unfortunately not, no," he sighed. His demeanour changed in a flash from love-shy trusting Percy to the brisk ministry employee that he'd perfected so well over the years. Hermione attributed his sudden change in persona to the fact that Ron had just emerged from his tent, Lavendar simpering behind him, as moments later they were joined by Charlie and Bill. The noise around the clearing was enough to wake a sleeping Fred, who sat up disorientated as he looked around the clearing.

Hermione threw Percy an apologetic look, as she made her way over to the newly woken Fred. "Morning," she grinned. "You made a nice pillow," she admitted, "thanks for not waking me last night."

"Don't mention it," Fred had grinned, "Us Weasley men have many uses," he'd laughed. "And besides, sleeping under the stars with a beautiful witch is an experience one doesn't make a habit of, either. So it was my pleasure."

His sheer charm had Hermione on cloud nine without so much as a second of hesitation. Her heart, if it could fly, would be a million miles away from her chest, right then.

Ron clearing his throat behind Hermione shattered the moment, and he held out a bacon sandwich to Hermione who took it gratefully. Her eyes couldn't help but wander to the tell-tale purple spattering of bruises that spurned the length of her ex's neck and spoke volumes of the night he'd just spent with Lavendar. When Ron saw Hermione's line of sight, he shrugged apologetically before wandering over to join the others.

"Bloody twerp doesn't even get me a bacon sandwich," exclaimed an outraged Fred. Laughing, Hermione tossed hers to Fred. She hadn't even been hungry, anyway, she told herself, as she ignored the rumblings that currently rolled through her digestive tract. She had it bad, she giggled knowingly to herself.

Not too long after Fred's awakening did Harry and Ginny join the ranks, followed by George moments later. Ginny was positively glowing and Harry seemed confident – sure of himself – something which he rarely seemed. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if last night had been good all round for Lavendar and Ron; Ginny and Harry and of course, a step forward in her own relationship with Fred.

"What's the plan for today?" Asked Bill, always looking for a sense of order and structure in everything – albeit with a mouthful of bacon and bread.

"I was thinking we should all go swimming in the lake?" Ginny piped up, and everyone cheered enthusiastically. The Weasley water fights were something out of this world, they really were, and besides it was a glorious day; the sun already burning hot in the sky.

"Sound good to me," Charlie piped up, and Percy, George and everyone else nodded their heads in agreement.

Hermione beamed. "Well then, what are we waiting for?"


	5. How Could You Not Know, Baby?

Chapter Five: How Could You Not Know, Baby

After the decision had been made for the day's activity, Hermione hurried over to her un-slept in tent to gather her things. She would need swimwear, that much was true, but she had a bit of a dilemma. Should she go for plain and practical – her black all in one swim piece – or should she push the metaphorical boat out and opt for something a little less prudish? After all she didn't want Fred thinking she was completely off limits by wearing a grandma cozzie, yet at the same time she was very much conscious that she was one of three girls in the midst of a testosterone fuelled group of boys. Shrugging, she opted for the red bikini. She grinned as she did up the gold clasp; she'd chosen wisely, it was Gryffindor colours through and through and complimented her skin tone perfectly.

Shrugging on a loose white camisole and some ripped denim shorts; Hermione slipped her wand and book into her beach bag, slung her towel over her shoulder and slipped into a pair of flip-flops. She squinted as she emerged from the tent, because by now the sun was already quite high in the sky and was blindingly bright – unusually nice weather for England, Hermione mused cynically. George beamed at her as she sat down on a log, waiting for the masses to converge.

"Today should be good," George grinned, "I can't remember the last time we were all at the lake."

Hermione nodded. The last time she could remember the entire Weasley clan together in one place had been for Bill's wedding – an event she didn't especially want to relive because of their subsequent run in with deatheaters. "Yeah it was ages ago since we all went to the lake. What was it, before the Quidditch world cup?"

George pondered Hermione's suggestion thoughtfully, racking his memory. "Yeah, must have been. Merlin, that's years ago now. How old were you then, 'Mione?"

"Fifteen, I think," Hermione admitted crisply. "Yeah, fifteen. My, that's like four years ago, that's insane!"

"Time flies," George mused philosophically, and Hermione nodded. The conversation came to an abrupt end as Ron and Lavendar arrived, the latter simpering after Ron's affections in a sickening manner. Hermione rolled her eyes and George chuckled, a deep throaty laugh. He liked Hermione, she was more fun to be around now than she had been back at Hogwarts – she'd loosened up a bit; learnt how to have fun. He also liked how happy she made his brother, who hadn't seen much lately, but who it was very clear to see was developing quite the soft spot for the bushy-haired witch.

The lake was a good five-minute walk from their camping site, and was conveniently located right next to the Weasley family property. Tales recounted over family meal times told Hermione that the family had grown up spending long languid summers in the iridescent blue water, watching the world go by as they'd grown up from kids into teenagers, and transitioned from being teenagers into adulthood.

The first time Hermione had spent a day at the lake had been during the summer before she'd gone to the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasleys. Charlie had suggested that the Weasley clan showed Harry and Hermione the secrets of the burrow, and so they had. She'd fallen in love with the expanse of water, with the swooping willow trees that overhung the banks, the smell of cherry blossom and the chirp of birds instantaneously. The Weasleys, as much as she loved them, were very emotionally draining, and since her introduction to it, Hermione had spent many hours by the water simply reading, or watching the world go by. It reminded her of summers spent with her parents camping in the Forest of Dean; a thought alone which made Hermione sad, as she pondered her parents someplace in Australia, with no recollection that they had a daughter, much less memories of summers spent camping with her.

Fred's voice snapped Hermione out of her reverie instantly, and she apologetically turned to the redhead. "Sorry," she grinned sheepishly, "I was away with the fairies just then, what did you say?"

Fred laughed. He knew more than anyone how often Hermione drifted off someplace distant, and he'd come to just accept it as part of her – he didn't get continuously irked by it, like he knew his brother Ron did, or Harry for that matter. Instead he'd learnt to just repeat whatever it was he was saying, which is what he did now. "I was just wondering if you wished to be my partner for the imminent water wrestling, that's all," he grinned. "I heard Ron and Lavendar boasting about how they intend on winning, that's all… and I thought you and I would make quite the formidable team. Whaddya think?" He flashed Hermione his trademark grin and it was all that she could do but melt.

"Why it would be my pleasure," she beamed and Fred punched the air enthusiastically, making the Gryffindor laugh.

They reached the waterside within minutes, and everyone set about laying their towels out in the glorious sunshine. Hermione deliberately laid her towel a little further away from the water side than everyone else, suspecting that with the amount of splashing that was likely to occur, that her towel would be drenched within moments, otherwise. Charlie and Bill wised up and shifted their own towels a bit closer to the bright witch, throwing casual winks in her direction as they realised her intuition.

Charlie casually peeled off the grey t-shirt he was wearing and was left standing in maroon swimming trunks, the colour complimenting his golden tan, an occupational hazard of living and working in Romania. Being a dragon tamer he was clearly no stranger to strenuous exercise, and he had the abs to show for it. Bill's lean and sculpted torso was also impressive, but paled somewhat in comparison to Charlie's. Hermione blushed slightly at the idea that she was ogling the Weasley boys, and prayed that they wouldn't stare at her in quite the same way. She slipped off her shorts and top in a slight and dignified gesture, folding them up neatly, not noticing the casual once overs that more than a few of the assembled males threw in her directions.

It was a good job that Hermione was facing away from everyone, or else she'd surely have died from embarrassment if she'd witnessed the look of approval that Charlie, Percy and Fred all shared. She stood up, not bothered about hiding her slight frame – she'd overcome her insecurities about her body shape long ago, now, and was secretly quite happy with her supple curves, proportional frame and of course, reasonably sized breasts. She hadn't done too badly, even if she did say so herself. The Weasley brothers in question would certainly agree with this statement.

Ron had discarded his shirt and Hermione had to try not to laugh at his podge – he was a man who loved his food after all, and Hermione couldn't help but giggle to herself for that was clearly evident, as she casually regarded his build. Percy filled out better than she had expected – she hadn't had opportunity to see the spectacled no-nonsense Weasley without a shirt for he had been far too busy to engage in _fun_ the summer of the world cup; he was too busy dealing with in-trays full of dung, Hermione mused with a smirk. For a bloke who spent a lot of time sat at a desk, he didn't look too shabby. It wasn't quite as drool-worthy as Charlie, but it was by no means unappealing. She shook herself, telling herself to pull herself together and stop drooling at the sight of so many male torsos.

Thus far she'd managed to avoid looking at a shirtless Fred – but the likelihood of having to look at him at some point was pretty high, given the fact that she _was_ spending a day in his company. She was just working herself up to it, she told herself. In fact, she had to take a deep breath at the thought. Having inappropriate thoughts about people with girlfriends wasn't something Hermione especially wanted to make a habit of. She took a deep breath, and with a glance around her, she ran full pelt towards the water, dive-bombing off the constructed jetty.

Harry and Ginny were already in the water, as were George, Lavendar and Ron, and everyone shrieked as the spray of water from Hermione's entrance cascaded down upon them. A drenched Ginny burst into laughter at the sight of Harry; his fringe extending below his eyes and completely obstructing his vision with the added length being soaked gave it. Harry shook his head like a dog, causing further mirth, and droplets of water to rain down everywhere.

"Geronimo!" screamed Charlie, Percy and Fred in unison as they ran for the edge of the water, arcing into the air in graceful dives. It took a good few seconds before they surfaced; Hermione suspected they were holding out to see who could hold their breath for longest, or get the furthest into the lake.

Bill also shrieked manically as he grabbed the tyre swing, did a Tarzan-esque manoeuvre across the lake and then plummeted into the depths, a wave of water washing over everyone. Lavendar seemed insistent on trying to fix her hair, even though the water had clearly already rendered it untameable. Hermione had sensibly waterproofed hers with a simple spell before her jump, and it was currently tied up in a loose bun, no frizzier than usual.

"Swimming race, everyone?" Asked Percy, having clambered out, already taking prime position for launching off the jetty. Enthusiastic splashes as everyone made their way over to the improvised starting line was his answer.

Lavendar sat out on the jetty, smoothing down her hair and announced, "I'll referee, I don't want to damage my hair." Hermione rolled her eyes at this, and Fred grinned at her. Hermione's distaste for Lavendar wasn't even being hidden by the usually subtle Gryffindor.

"On your marks, get set, go!" Shouted Lavendar, and with that, they were off.

Hermione knew she had very little chance of winning when surrounded by so much testosterone, but she pushed herself until her lungs were screaming in protest, nonetheless. She could feel someone with strong strokes ploughing ahead of her, and she was very much tempted to grab onto the leg in front of her to her right and go for a ride. She arced gracefully, pushing off the jetty at the other side of the lake, and turned to swim back to Lavendar, gasping for breath every few strokes as she pulled herself through the water. She slammed her hand on the wood, and pulling herself out of the water, she saw everyone else had already finished.

Charlie and Ginny were currently arguing, and Lavendar wasn't doing an amazing job of being a judicator. "I won, Charlie, I swear," Ginny snarled, and Charlie simply laughed.

"Yeah right, Gin," the older boy grinned, "In your dreams. I was here way before you were."

Ginny stared at Charlie with a look that said "don't make me hex you" and Charlie raised his eyebrows, put his hands up and backed away from his very scary younger sister. "Fine, fine, you win," Charlie conceded with reluctance. Ginny grinned triumphantly at her brother with a look that said "butter wouldn't melt in my mouth". He simply rolled his eyes and ruffled her hair, to which Ginny splashed him in the face.

She wasn't sure who had shouted it, but all Hermione heard was "Water fight!" and then she was fighting for survival.

The problem was Hermione didn't have especially large hands, and in water fights such as this one, that left her at a particular disadvantage. Bill's huge hands scooped up masses of water, drenching whichever unfortunate person was standing in his way, and Charlie had the ability to use wandless magic to summon majestic water dragons, that spat water all over his victim. Fred and George worked as one, sneaking up on a victim from either side and presenting relentless waves of water to crash down from both in front and behind of their victim. Hermione favoured to approach sneakily; ducking under the water after taking a large breath, and grabbing her victim's legs, pulling them under the surface to receive a large mouthful of unanticipated water. Harry splashed manically, his screaming enough to make you want to get out of his way. Ginny was brutal, wrestling her brothers twice her size into the water, and holding them in an iron-grip headlock until they begged for their release. Percy had pushed his glasses up his nose, spat out a mouthful of water and then clambered out of the water to cries of "traitor". Abandoning a water fight mid-fight was a cardinal sin if you were a Weasley, apparently. Percy cast an anti-water charm on his glasses, and then promptly belly-flopped back in, drenching everyone in the vicinity. Once everyone was suitably occupied with an opponent – Hermione noted Ron and Lavendar were doing more snogging than fighting – Hermione clambered out, grabbed her wand and then waved it, muttering incantations under her breath.

At first it didn't seem like anything was happening and Bill quirked his eyebrow at her in bemusement. A steady look of concentration crossed Hermione's face as she began muttering faster and faster. Then, the water in the lake began rotating in a clockwise direction, rapidly gathering speed as it span into a whirlpool. It got larger and larger, as Hermione stood chuckling to herself on the bank. Slowly and steadily the wrestling mass of Weasleys, as well as Harry and Lavendar, got sucked towards the foaming mass of water.

Ron was the first to go under; he was ducked under the water to come up spluttering moments later. Lavendar clambered onto him like a raft, trying to save herself from going under, but only succeeding in dunking both her boyfriend and herself. Hermione outright laughed from her position of safety on the bank. Charlie went under next, and he came up with a murderous look in his eyes, directed solely in Hermione's direction. There was utter chaos as everyone in the vicinity of the whirlpool fought and clambered over one another to ensure their survival.

What Hermione hadn't banked on was for Fred to hold on tightly to the jetty she was stood on as her spell began to take effect. His arms were rippling with the effort that it took not to float off into the centre of the foaming water, but he reached up determinedly and grabbed an unsuspecting Hermione's leg, causing her wand to go flying and land safely on the grass next to the lake, and the spell caster in question to go hurtling into the lake, pulling Fred along with her as she did so.

Her eyes widened in shock as she registered the fact that she was now at the centre of a gradually slowing whirlpool – the spell was no longer being cast but would take a few minutes to wear off of its own cause – and she was currently holding onto Fred Weasley for dear life. Her arms were round his neck, as they hurtled round the circle, ducking under water every now and then, coming up spluttering for air. Fred grinned wickedly at her, as he purposefully dunked her along with himself and Hermione came up grinning slyly to herself. When they reached a calmer section of the whirlpool, her arms still around the Weasley boy's neck, she spat the entire contents of her mouth right into his face. He stared at her in utter shock for a few seconds, before bursting out laughing.

"Having fun?" Cackled a revenge-seeking Charlie, and before Hermione could answer, she was ripped from the sanctity of Fred's arms and ducked straight under the water by a muscled and manic Charlie Weasley. When he finally let her up for air, Hermione grinned at him.  
"Tons," she said, in reply. He'd grinned happily at her, scooped her up bridal style, and then proceeded to throw her halfway across the lake. She screwed her eyes and mouth shut as she plunged into the depths. She counted for as long as she could before resurfacing. Splashing stopped, just as she was burning through her last few seconds of oxygen, then a leg strode through the water where she hid. She grabbed it, and pulled it down triumphantly. Gotcha! Hermione thought to herself, full of adrenalin. She surfaced, and then the leg's owner did too, looking a tad bit drenched and utterly confused.

Hermione went bright red, to the amusement of the rest of the spectators. "Ahh," Hermione moaned. "Sorry Mr Weasley, I thought you were Charlie."

"That's quite alright, Hermione," a confused Arthur Weasley smiled fondly down at Hermione, "Nothing like a good old dunking."

She grinned wryly, and the rest of the Weasley clan shouted, "Dad! What're you doing here?" And before their Dad had a chance to answer, they proceeded to absolutely drench him.

After the lake had just about been emptied of its entire water content, the Weasleys followed suit, and Lavendar, Harry and Hermione also emerged from the lake to dry off for lunch.

Arthur, it turned out, had arrived back because he'd been called into work from Venice. He seemed a bit put out that he hadn't had the romantic break away that he'd originally envisaged, but nonetheless he came bearing sandwiches, courtesy of Molly Weasley who certainly knew how to put out a good spread. He entrusted Hermione with the wicker picnic basket – no doubt holding an enlargement charm to conceal the sheer amounts of food the Weasley boys could be known to put away – before departing, promising to be back for dinner that evening. "Don't be too silly, and have fun everyone," Arthur had grinned. "I wish I could join you, but work calls. Your mother's back at the house if you need anything. Goodbye boys, girls," he added, nodding to Hermione, Ginny and Lavendar.

"Bye Dad," everyone chorused. They waited until their Dad had apparated away before all but pouncing on Hermione, who held the food that they all so desperately wanted.

Hermione managed to pilfer a bacon lettuce and tomato sandwich before the Weasley boys stole them all, and a bag of prawn cocktail crisps; her favourites. She settled on her towel, laying in the sun to dry her swim-wear. There was silence for a good half an hour or so, with all that could be heard being the crunch of food, the rustle of cellophane crisp wrappers or the occasional belch, which were met by looks of disgust from Hermione.

"I say we play truth or dare," piped up Lavendar, and Hermione rolled her eyes. Figures, even out of Hogwarts, Lavendar was still snooping for personal information from people.

"What's that?" Asked Bill, curiously.

"A game," announced Hermione cynically, "In which you're forced to reveal your deepest and darkest desires, or utterly humiliate yourself by performing a dare set by the other players."

Fred and George looked at one another, grinning wickedly. "Awesome!"

"Sounds like – " began Fred

"Our kind of game," finished George.

"How'd you play?" Asked Charlie, curiously, and Hermione rolled her eyes. It appeared that petty muggle games would out, and that Truth or Dare would be the entertainment that lunch time.

Ginny clapped excitably, before taking the role of chief game explainer. "I love this game!" She grinned full of anticipation. It was a well-known fact throughout Gryffindor tower that the witch thought up some of the most squirm-worthy truth or dares. "Basically everyone sits in a circle, and spins their wand. Whoever it lands on, they ask them "truth or dare" and if the person says truth, you're meant to ask them a question that's either embarrassing or something you've always wanted to know about them. If they says "dare" then you have to dare them to do something that either has funny consequences or is embarrassing for them to have to perform. It's a way of testing people's limits. You're allowed to pass but if you do you're out the game and no longer able to administer questions or dares. Got it?" The entire Weasley clan, as well as Lavendar and Harry, nodded enthusiastically.

"Sounds interesting," Percy remarked slyly, and Hermione noticed the pointed look he shot in her and Fred's direction. Her eyes widened in alarm. What if someone asked her a question about how she felt about Fred?"

"Wait," Bill said, thoughtfully, "How will we know that someone is telling the truth if they get asked something they don't want to answer?"

Fred grinned wickedly. "I've got just the thing…" he rooted through his bag for a few moments before coming up with a small glass vial filled with colourless liquid. "Veritaserum," he explained, "Highly illegal, of course, but I won't tell if you won't tell. We nicked it from Snape's office; and I've been trying to find an opportune moment to use it."

"When did you nick that from Snape's office?" Exclaimed George, seeming surprised.

"Oh. I did it before we took off," Fred explained. "I didn't tell you because I was going to slip you some at some point," he announced, no shame.

"Love you too, Fred," George rolled his eyes, and everyone laughed. "Who's going first?"

"Oldest to youngest?" Reasoned Ginny, and everyone nodded, taking their places in the circle.

Bill span his wand and everyone watched as it landed on Lavendar. "Truth or dare?" asked the curse breaker, grinning slightly to himself.

"Ooh," squeaked Lavendar struggling to make such a hard decision. Hermione rolled her eyes again. "Truth please."

Everyone waited on tenterhooks for Bill to ask his question, "Have you ever been skinny dipping in this lake with Ron?" He asked her, with a look of both disgust and interest on his face as he pre-empted her answer.

Ron hung his head in his hands and blushed profusely and Lavendar mumbled, "Yeah."

The whole group shivered universally. "Yuck," Fred grimaced. And to think I've swallowed about half this lake today, too," everyone laughed.

Charlie took his wand and gave it a quick spin, watching as it landed on Percy who looked up at his brother with steady resolve when asked "truth or dare". Percy considered the options, pushed his spectacles further up his nose, and then chose.

"Dare." There were a few gasps – no one expected fun detesting Percy to be the first to pick a dare, and they reckoned they could rely on Charlie to provide them all with some decent entertainment.

With a wicked glint in his eyes, Charlie triumphantly announced, "You have to kiss Hermione for a full minute!"

The whole group guffawed, and Ron looked absolutely stumped. Percy met Hermione's eyes, and she blushed apologetically, only thinking of his admission that morning. Percy took Hermione's hand in his and pressed his lips to her hand for a good sixty seconds.

He quirked his eyebrow when Charlie's glare met him challengingly. "You never said _where_ I had to kiss Hermione," he announced, seeming smug.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "If that's the way you want to play it, dear brother," he promised, "I'll be more specific next time."

"Bring it on," Percy licked his lips nervously as he span the bottle and it landed on Fred. His eyes clouded with realisation of what this meant, and hastily asked, "Truth or dare."

Fred was already grinning smugly, not counting on the fact that Percy was privy to a certain piece of knowledge that Fred himself wasn't. "Dare," he chose, without so much as a second's hesitation.

Hermione liked Fred, and Percy liked Hermione. Percy would do anything to see his Gryffindor golden girl happy, and if that meant wasting his dare on getting Fred to kiss Hermione, then so be it.

"I dare you to kiss Hermione passionately, as if she were your wife, for three minutes," Percy announced with a sniff, as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

"But –" Hermione spluttered, "What about Angelina – "

Hermione was cut off from her protest as a pair of warm and tender lips belonging to none other than Fred Weasley descended upon her own.


	6. The Kind of Music She Doesn't Like

Chapter Six: Listening to the Kind of Music She Doesn't Like

Just kidding. Fred's lips didn't really descend on Hermione's. It was only in Hermione's imagination that they actually did; she could just feel their suppleness, the gentleness of his caress… but no, you see whilst Percy had been trying to be clever, he'd actually left a rather major loophole in the dare.

You see there was one small problem with the dare he'd just delivered to his brother; and Fred Weasley was good at wriggling his way out of sticky situations. He had, after all, had a lot of practice courtesy of Filch and his blasted cat, Mrs Norris, over the years. Fred _had_ been about to swoop down and kiss Hermione senseless, but then he had a flash of inspiration.

"Hang on Percy," Fred demanded, "You want me to kiss Hermione as if she was my wife?"

Percy nodded.

"Well I don't have a wife. So in that case, I don't have to kiss Hermione at all," Fred grinned triumphantly. Percy wasn't the _only_ one able to pick loopholes in dares, he thought smugly to himself, not noticing the look of sheer disappointment and hurt that flitted across Hermione's face for a mere second before she regained her composure.

Everyone groaned, rolling their eyes. Ginny piped up, "You guys, there's no point in playing if you're going to pick holes in the way each dare is phrased. Now man up and kiss Hermione, Fred," the youngest Weasley demanded. Fred swallowed nervously. It was a well-known fact that you didn't want to be on the wrong side of an angry Ginny; if you did then you'd be more than likely to be on the receiving end of one of her bat-bogey hexes. And that was _not_ something that one wanted to experience, if you had any common sense.

"No," Hermione butted in. "He's got a girlfriend, he doesn't have to kiss me, it's fine," she finished timidly, and Fred sat back from where he'd been beginning to lean towards her.

"Well if you're sure," Ginny conceded. "Hurry up Fred," she instructed, as her brother took up his wand and span it in the centre of the circle. It did about three rotations before coming to rest on Harry, who gulped nervously.

Percy was shooting Hermione confused looks from across the circle. Why hadn't she kissed Fred? That had been what she wanted, hadn't it? Had he upset her, by instructing his brother to kiss the Gryffindor, even thought that had been the last thing he himself had wanted to witness? Percy never understood girls. Maybe that was why he was currently girlfriend-less, he mused, with a chuckle to himself.

"Truth or dare?" Asked Fred and Harry winced. Either, coming from a Weasley twin, would probably be pretty bad.

"Truth?" he asked tentatively. Ginny buried her head in her hands, already knowing what Fred would ask. Fred forced a drop of Veritaserum into Harry's mouth before he asked his question.

"Well then, Harry," Fred began in a patronising tone, "Is my ickle sister good in bed?"

"I wouldn't know," replied Harry, honestly. "We've not slept together, yet," he added.

Everyone's eyebrows shot up into their hair line. It had been unanimously assumed that Harry was sleeping with Ginny – and neither one of them had done anything to correct that notion.  
"What?" Fred asked, confused.

"It's true," admitted a tomato coloured Ginny; matching her hair. "We've not had time to ourselves," she explained. "The Burrow walls are far too thin for my liking," she admitted, "if we did do anything, Ron could probably hear us through the walls like we can him and Lavendar," she added, throwing a spiteful look in Lavendar's direction. It seemed no one especially liked Hermione's old roommate all that much, with the exception of Ron himself, of course.

At this titbit of information, Bill, Charlie, Fred and George all guffawed whilst Ron and Lavendar turned puce. Percy, however, looked on disapprovingly at talk of intercourse.

"Well I never," grinned George as he took his turn to spin his wand. "You learn something new every day. Truth or Dare, dear sis?" He asked as his wand pointed to Ginny.

"Dare," Ginny demanded, bravely.

"I dare you to throw a dungbomb at Mum, later, without her knowing who did it." Everyone in the circle winced; Mrs Weasley had a certain aptitude for sourcing a dungbomb's origin, and an even better known wrath for punishing whoever it was who threw it.

"Deal," Ginny nodded, thinking to herself that she'd actually gotten off quite lightly. "Your turn, Hermione," the witch smiled, as Hermione took up her wand, spun it, and it landed on Charlie.

"Truth or dare?" Hermione asked, curiously, already thinking up ideas for each.

"Truth," he decided on after mentally weighing up each of the options.

"Who's your favourite sibling and why?" Hermione asked, genuinely interested.

Suddenly, everyone in the circle was listening. Whatever he said was bound to result in a discrepancy of some sort.

"Between Bill and Ginny," he decided after a few minutes contemplation. "I love you all, don't get me wrong," he added, hastily, to a few glares being directed in his direction. But I grew up with Bill; he was the one who taught me to ride a broom, always looked out for me at Hogwarts and covered for me with Mum if I was sneaking out late. So I owe it to you for that, I guess," he explained, nodding to Bill in thanks, who modestly bowed his head and smiled.

"And Gin, well I mainly said you because you'd hex my bits if I didn't," he admitted to further laughter, "But I do love you, having a sister is a breath of fresh air compared to having brothers, and I like the feeling of being a protective figure for you, beat up any unwanted suitors," he added with a joking glance in Harry's direction.

"Glad to hear it," Ginny grinned, "Don't worry… your manly parts are safe… for now," she conceded, to yet more laughter.

Lavendar took up her wand and gave it a spin, landing on George. "Truth or dare?" She asked, eagerly, hoping he would pick truth and she'd be able to ask an excruciatingly personal question.

"Truth," conceded George. After all; he was a father now, it was hardly appropriate for him to have to kiss someone, which would be the likely outcome if he chose the dare option.

"Name all the people you've ever fancied," Lavendar demanded, triumphantly.

George shrugged. "Fancied, as in had romantic notions towards, or just found fit?"

Lavendar deliberated.

"Because we could be here for a while if it's just fit birds," George laughed, "I've not got very high standards," he admitted, hi-fiving Fred as he did so.

"Okay just people you've fancied then," Lavendar decided.

"Okay well there's Alicia, obviously," He began, "Fleur," he added with a wince, the Veritaserum forcing him into telling the truth. "Sorry Bill," he apologised, and Bill shrugged. If you were married to someone as hot as Fleur Delacour then you kind of had to deal with the fact that other men were attracted to her. "And Cho Chang," he conceded, followed by an apology to Harry who shrugged it off, before kissing Ginny tenderly on the lips. "Oh and Hermione," George hurried quickly, "But that was ages ago," he added, and Hermione giggled. "That's it," George concluded.

It seemed to Hermione she was quite popular with the Weasley boys; first with Ron, then with Percy, and now with George. Shame it wasn't the right Weasley twin that was romantically interested in her though, she sighed.

Ron spun his wand and grinned as it landed on Hermione. "Truth or dare?" He'd asked.

"Truth," Hermione had chosen, regretting her decision as soon as the word was out of her mouth.

"Rank everyone here in order of sexual appeal and explain your choices," Grinned Ron wickedly. Hermione sighed. He'd clearly been working on that one for just a while.

"On what terms?" Queried Hermione, looking for loopholes.

"As in which of us you'd prefer to sleep with on an aesthetic basis or different ground," Ron decided, not realising that he'd saved Hermione from serious embarrassment with that last clause.

"Okay then," Hermione began, breathing in as she did so, preparing herself for the onslaught. "I'd probably place Charlie at the top of my list," she admitted with a slight blush as she met the Dragon tamer's eyes, quirking his eyebrow amused as she did so. "Because he's a womanising twerp and he's hot. Tanned and a six pack, I mean _hello_ ," grinned Hermione, and Lavendar nodded understandingly with her. That had to be the first time the two girls agreed on something.

"Then in number two," Hermione conceded, "Fred closely followed by George," she announced, winking at Fred, seeming more brave than she actually felt, "Because there's no better way of getting a woman into bed than to be a man with a sense of humour," she grinned.

"Hear, hear!" Fred and George cheered enthusiastically, and everyone laughed.

Then Hermione paused in genuine confusion of who to pick next. Out of Bill, Percy, Ron and Harry – for the girls ranked last on her list – she genuinely didn't know who to pick next. Should she choose a married man; a new admirer; an old flame or her best friend? She settled for Percy, figuring that he'd take it as a compliment to be ranked above Ron, at least.

"Then Percy," she decided, which provoked a splutter from Ron. He was clearly holding himself in high esteems, Hermione chuckled. "Because you're smart and sensible, like me and for that same reason, Bill you're next. Men who can hold an intellectual conversation are shag-worthy in my books at least," Hermione announced, courtesy of the Veritaserum, blushing profusely.

"Then Ron, because I've been there and done that, you don't hold as much interest," Hermione admitted, blushing some more. "Then Harry because if ranked you any higher then Ginny would hex me," she admitted, and Ginny laughed good-naturedly. "Then sorry guys, but Ginny then Lavendar, girls don't really float my boat in that sense," she finished.

Everyone clapped as Hermione finished her list, and Charlie stood up and did an elaborate bow, acting pleased to have received first place. Fred Weasley wouldn't tell anyone, but he was secretly glad that his bookworm considered him to be worthy in that sense; at least she showed him a bit more appreciation than his girlfriend did! He suspected that if Angelina had to rank him alongside her Quidditch team mates then he'd place somewhere in the middle. Not near the bottom – for there were some really bad lookers in her team – but by no means would he rank at the top, like a boyfriend ought to. Fred sighed.

The game of truth had hastily concluded with Harry's wand landing on Bill, who chose to complete a dare of stealing and wearing some of his Mum's underwear upon return to the Burrow; and Ginny asking Ron if he still had feelings for Hermione, when he asked for a truth. Ron had taken a gulp of Veritaserum and to everyone's surprise answered "no," leaving his brothers confused as to why he'd staked his claim over her if this was the case. They shrugged. Perhaps their little brother simply had a sharing complex, they mused?

Once everyone's lunch had registered, the overall decision was to return to the water for a few more hours, before packing up camp and returning to the burrow. Fred grinned evilly as he approached a canoodling Ron and Lavendar. "You still up for that wrestling match, you promised me?"

"We're kind of busy here," Lavendar explained pointedly.

"Oh I can see that," grinned Fred, "I just guess it's a shame for you to concede automatic defeat to me and Hermione, that's all."

Ron's competitive streak got the better of him. "Come on Lav," He announced, "We're going to whip Hermione and Fred's asses at this."

"Oh I sincerely doubt that," said Fred, throwing Hermione a casual wink as he took her by the arm and led her to the water.

He dived gracefully into the water, cutting through it in a fluid, fish-like motion. Hermione followed suit. Ron dive-bombed into the lake, sending a cascade of water everywhere, and Lavendar squealed as the cold water bit at her flesh. She finally worked up the courage to submerge herself, and dived in.

"Bill," Fred called out to where Bill was spread out on the deck, lapping up a few sunrays before joining everyone else in the lake. "Will you referee?"

Bill nodded. "Sure, take your positions," He instructed. "Girls on top."

"Ooh, cheeky," grinned Fred, and Bill groaned whilst Hermione giggled.

Fred ducked under the water, holding his nose, and Hermione clambered atop his shoulders, suddenly conscious of her weight (which really wasn't that much at all; in fact Fred himself was marvelling at how little the Gryffindor weighed, given the amount of food she managed to put away on occasion). Fred resurfaced at the same time as Ron; both boys' hands resting on the girls' legs, providing balance and stability, and in Hermione's case a searing sensation where Fred's hands made contact with her flesh.

She was just glad that Fred couldn't see the blush that coloured her cheeks from where she sat, his head so near a highly sensitive spot of her body.

"First pair under the water concedes the match," Bill explained, "No biting or magic allowed. Pure display of strength and teamwork," he grinned. "First to three. Take your marks, get set, and go!"

Fred's hands immediately tightened on Hermione's creamy thighs as Ron and Lavendar lurched towards them. Interlocking her hands with Lavendar, Hermione began to push, twisting her upper torso to put her opponent in a weaker position. Hermione had surprising upper body strength, which both Lavendar and Ron underestimated, as with a hard shove, Hermione sent Lavendar – and Ron with her – flailing backwards into the water.

Lavendar and Ron came up coughing and spluttering, whilst Hermione punched the air triumphantly and Fred took his arms off Hermione's legs momentarily to do a celebratory version of the Macarena, which had both Bill and Hermione spluttering with laughter. Bill told Ron to reposition his partner, and Lavendar glared from her ginger-haired perch. Hermione glared back, and the second round of the match was initiated.

This time, Lavendar was out to play dirty, and she grabbed Hermione's hair causing her to yelp out in pain. In return, Hermione dug her fingernails into Lavendar's forearms, cutting into the flesh so that she was forced to release her grip. "Ouch!" Lavendar had yelped, and with that distraction and a firm push, Hermione shoved her sideways, and both Lavendar and Ron toppled into the water once again.

With one point to go before Fred and Hermione were crowned undefeated champion, Lavendar and Ron took on a steely resolve, and seconds after Bill shouted go, were plunged straight under the water. Hermione froze in the air, confused, she hadn't even touched Lavendar.

Then Fred burst out laughing. "My signature move," Fred explained, "The leg hook. Couldn't let you do all the work now, could I?" He grinned as he set Hermione down from his shoulders. "We make a good team, I do believe," as he bowed, kissing Hermione's hand, as Ron came up severely pissed off and nursing his ego. Lavendar resurfaced, spluttering, later as well.

"We have a champion!" Bill laughed deeply, "Two, in fact, who dare take on the mighty Fred Granger and Hermione Weasley-" He shouted, then paused as he realised his mistake. "My apologies," he added, and Fred and Hermione burst out laughing, even though the switch of their second names wasn't really all that amusing.

After a few more hours of swimming and frolicking around in the lake, reluctantly everyone decided to gather their things and go pack up the camp; for the sun was beginning to get lower in the sky and the water was not nearly as warm as it had been when they first arrived.

"You guys go ahead," Harry announced. "I need to talk to Ginny for a bit," he explained, and Ginny had nodded sleepily from where she had been sunbathing, watching the clouds drift overheard in fuzzy white swirls.

"Sure. No problem," Bill said, "Just make sure you're back for dinner or else Mum will have your head," he instructed in his big brotherly fashion. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Moaned Ginny. "Whatever you say. Now go away please, you're ruining my peace." Ginny always got pissy when she was hungry; Hermione chuckled, but nonetheless gathered her possessions as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the redhead.

The tents didn't take too long to pack up, especially not with the use of magic. In fact, the whole lot was packed up and back at the Burrow before you could say "roast potato" – something, Hermione suspected, to do with the fact that the unmistakable scent of Molly Weasley's famous roast dinners was discernible on the breeze.

Hermione undressed in her own room at the Burrow – glad to be back in a house after a long day and a bit in the Great Outdoors. Too much camping and Hermione would be reminded of her taxing hunt for horcruxes with harry and Ron; not something she particularly wanted to reminisce about. She plugged her iPod into her docking station, and pressed Shuffle. A song from one of her favourite films, "10 Things I Hate About You" called 'I want you to want me' came on, and Hermione moved around her room to the beat of the song.

She shook her hair out of its bun and it fell in messy waves about her face. She stripped herself of her camisole and shorts, tossing them in her dirty laundry basket as she continued to bop to the song, popping her hips this way and that, shaking her hair here there and everywhere as she relaxed into the role of air guitarist, majestically strumming to the guitar riffs.

"I want you to want me... I need you to need me… I'd love you to love me… I'm beggin' you to beg me," Sang Hermione, completely oblivious to the bemused Fred Weasley who was currently slouched in her doorway (which was wide open, for the record) watching her with a look of admiration and bemusement as the Gryffindor really got into the song.

Hermione gyrated her hips and swayed to the music; all whilst strumming her imaginary guitar and singing along to the music. Fred couldn't help but grin. "Oh, didn't I, didn't I, didn't I see you cryin'? Feelin' all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dyin'?" She continued to sing into her hairbrush, hair swaying back and forth in time to the music.

Fred couldn't stand it any longer. He simply _had_ to alert Hermione to his presence, or else he really would sweep her up in his arms right there and then and kiss her just to stop her from doing that atrocious singing. He didn't know what music it was she was listening to, but it certainly wasn't anything he or anyone he knew listened to. Angelina only ever listened to music by the likes of the Weird Sisters and the Flobberworms – never any of this _muggle stuff_ that Hermione raved to. He chuckled.

Clearing his throat, Fred chuckled as Hermione span around wearing her red and gold bikini from earlier, an expression not dissimilar to a rabbit caught in some headlines.

"Oh," Hermione breathed. "I didn't see you there."

"Clearly," Fred chuckled, "You were far too engaged in your dance routine to notice me," he grinned, and Hermione's cheeks blushed red. Nobody ever saw Hermione's private dance routines – and now _F_ _red_ of all people had?! This was simply just too embarrassing.

Luckily, Hermione was saved by a shriek from somewhere outside.

"I'M GETTING MARRIED!" Ginny's unmistakable voice shrieked from a good way away from the burrow. But her shrieks could be heard loud and clear throughout the house, as everyone froze and dropped what they were doing.

Bill's manuscript of _Codes to Break for Fun_ thudded to his bedroom floor, as his mouth dropped open in shock.

Charlie's broomstick, which had been hovering as he'd been just about to mount it, thudded to the ground, as his eyes widened.

Percy's glasses, which he'd been polishing thoroughly the muggle way, with a cloth, dropped to his desk with a "tinkle", but fortunately didn't break.

The roast potato George had been trying to sneak past his Mum fell back into the tray.

Fred simply stood staring open mouthed at Hermione, who stood staring back at him.

The Chudley Canons poster, which Ron had been trying to tack to his bedroom wall with little success, fell and drifted to the floor as he froze into a state of shock.

Then Molly Weasley shrieked, "WHAT?!" and everyone thudded downstairs, out through the kitchen – leaving the parsnips to cremate themselves – and into the yard.

Fully grown men thudded down the rickety stairs two at a time, the wooden boards creaking ominously under their weight. Out of breath, everyone spilled out into the front yard to demand an explanation from the youngest Weasley.

Lavendar squealed excitably, grabbing hold of Ginny's hand and displaying her ring finger to the gathered people. "Oooh it's so pretty!" She yelped, and Hermione gulped.

Harry had proposed? Down by the lake? Just now? Hermione had had no inclination, no forewarning that this was going to happen. It seemed nobody did. In fact, Hermione felt very much out of the loop, right then, in that moment. Why had nobody told her?

"Ginny dear?" Molly managed to whisper. "Is it true?" Harry stood beside Ginny, his hand on her waist supportively as he hugged her to him.

"Yes Mum," Ginny beamed, as tears rolled down her cheeks, "I'm going to be Mrs Potter!"

Those two words alone were enough to set Molly Weasley off in floods of tears – whilst the dinner burnt itself to a crisp, forgotten in all the pre-nuptial excitement.

"I can't believe it," Mrs Weasley sobbed, "My little girl's getting married!"

"Mum stop crying," Ginny instructed, as she smiled weakly. "What's that smell?" She added, and Molly yelped as she realised that she was currently caramelising her onions beyond the state of human consumption.

Weddings were _all_ anyone would talk about for the entirety of the meal. And Hermione hated to have to say it; but whilst she'd been ravenous prior to Ginny and Harry's unexpected news, she wasn't feeling quite so hungry now.

"Where are you going to have it?" Molly asked, before answering her own question, Ginny unable to get a word in edgeways. "You'll have it hear of course; we'll invite all your school friends. What about an engagement party? Oh yes, we'll have to have one of those," Molly fussed, as she bustled about pouring a little bit too much gravy over everyone's dinners.

The only time Molly Weasley ever made lumpy gravy, it seemed, was when her one and only daughter got engaged. She seemed even more excited than Ginny herself did; if that was even humanely possible, Hermione mused.

"We'll throw a party for next week, yes, that should be plenty of time don't you think?" She asked nobody in particular. She then yelped excitedly as Arthur's hand on the Weasley family clock moved from 'Work' to 'Travelling' and then 'Home'.

Molly ran out on her two stumpy legs faster than you would have though humanely possible, and all but jumped on her husband as she yelled, "Ginny's getting married!"

Nobody has ever gone quite as crimson with rage and betrayal as Mrs Weasley did when her husband made the dreadful mistake of saying, "I know."

Time, could have quite possibly stopped, as confusion followed by realisation that dissipated to be replaced by pure anger and contempt flitted across the face on Molly Weasley.

The voice that had filled Ron's howler in his second year, and not an unfamiliar sound to Fred and George, either, rang out through the yard of the burrow. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU KNOW? EXPLAIN YOURSELF, ARTHUR, RIGHT NOW!"

Everyone, whether they were fully grown men and thrice the size of Molly, quaked in their books at their mother's rampage. Arthur Weasley breathed in before responding calmly, "I've known for weeks, dear. Harry did have to ask the bride to be father's permission, after all."

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!" Shrieked a very angry Molly Weasley.

"Calm down, dearest," Arthur soothed. "It was for your own good-"

"MY OWN GOOD?!" Yelped Molly.

"Yes," he explained. "If I'd have told you that Harry was going to propose to Ginny then you'd have scared the poor boy a million miles off and he'd never have done it. I wanted the proposal to be on his own terms; and not something arranged behind Ginny's back her Mum. These kinds of gestures have to come from the heart," he explained, knowledgably. "It's more romantic that way."

"Oh Arthur," Crooned Molly, "You wonderful, wonderful man…"

"Come here, Mollywobbles," Arthur grinned, as Molly leant into his embrace, as he placed a large and sloppy kiss upon her mouth.

"Yuck," said everyone.

It was dusk by the time everyone had finished their (now stone cold) meals, and the washing up had been done, table cleared and arguments over who knew and who didn't put to rest.

Hermione didn't feel quite so bad being left out knowing that Molly and Ron had been, too. She didn't quite know what she'd have done if Ron had been privy to the knowledge that Harry was going to propose to Ginny, and she hadn't been. Even Hermione could be susceptible to a little bit of the Green Eyed Monster syndrome, sometimes.

She was sitting in her favourite spot – beside the lake – revelling in the warm summer air, inhaling the fragrance of the cherry blossom petals all around her, so absorbed that she didn't notice Fred come sit by her.

"Hey," he grinned at her, "Not going to burst into an impromptu dance routine are you?" He teased, and Hermione punched him in the arm softly, he feigned injury and she chuckled. Even when she was feeling low, one certain Weasley twin was always able to lift her spirits.

"No I'm all worn out from earlier," she grinned. Then her face fell. "Besides I'm not in the mood anymore."

"What's up?" His voice was laced with concern. Hermione sighed. _He_ was up. _He_ was on her mind every waking moment of every fucking day. _He_ was always there, always joking and always reminding her just how far away he was. The fact that he hadn't kissed her in the game of truth or dare, earlier in the day, stung more than Hermione wanted to admit. Rejection hurts at the best of times, she mused, but it sucks all the more if it's what you have to endure on a daily basis. But of course Hermione couldn't tell him any of that, so she just shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nothing, I guess," she said quietly and not completely truthfully. "I've just had a long day."

"You and me both," Fred sighed. "Let me walk you to your door, m'lady?" He beamed at her, proffering her his arm. "I think I'm going to turn in for the night. I'm shattered."

"I would be delighted to acquiesce your request, Mr Weasley," Hermione curtseyed and Fred laughed.

"I don't know what half the words you use mean, 'Mione," Fred admitted, "But you sure are one sophisticated 'gall."

"Why thank you," she beamed. They'd reached her bedroom door, and Fred's was the next flight of stairs up. "Goodnight," she sighed, and Fred hugged her, enveloping her in his unique smell; faint traces of citrus currently over powered by grass – tell-tale signs he'd been outdoors all day – and something spicier. Cinnamon, maybe? She inhaled deeply, and watched him as he walked up the stairs.

She'd fall asleep hugging her pillow, that night, pretending it was a certain redhead as she relived the different notes of his scent again… and again … and again, before she finally drifted into slumber.


	7. Dreaming About the Day

**Chapter Seven: Dreaming About the Day**

Hermione sighed as she surveyed herself in the mirror. Her dress was plain, simple, nothing out of the ordinary really. She had deliberately delayed conferring with Ginny about outfits until the last minute, because knowing the redhead she'd try and force Hermione into a slim fitting extravagant number which was the antonym of her personality. She liked this dress - she'd bought it one summer with her mother in Camden market in London, on one of their numerous girly weekends together. It had cost her next to nothing, but that wasn't why she liked it. She liked it because of the floaty white fabric it was composed of. It was only made of cotton, yet it gave Hermione the feeling that she could fly.

She suspected that Harry and Ginny's engagement party would be a frivolous event, involving a large amount of socializing that Hermione didn't really want to have anything to do with. As much as Hermione loved Molly Weasley, the witch sometimes over did it a bit when it came to orchestrating family occasions. Hermione wasn't a social animal like Lavendar Brown; she didn't live for the next issue of witch weekly, wanting to find out who's dating who. She sighed again, today was going to be a long day, she could tell, and the day was yet to begin. She twirled her hair absent-mindedly whilst wondering what to do with it, when a cough at the door roused her from her thoughts.

"Fred," she beamed, glad that this time when he'd interrupted her reverie she hadn't been bikini-clad and dancing around her room manically to the soundtrack of _Ten Things I Hate About You_.

"You should wear your hair down," he instructed. "It looks really nice like that."

Hermione was shocked he'd taken the time to notice what her hair looked like up or down. "Oh, erm, thanks -"

She was cut off as a dramatic screech of "Freeeeed," was yelled upstairs by none other than Angelina Johnson. She had to make a conscious effort not to roll her eyes; Fred still didn't know about Hermione's outright hatred for the girl, let alone her reasons for having such feelings.

"Sorry about that," grinned Fred with a sheepish look, "I'll catch you later, 'Mione, Angie obviously wants me."

"Okay," the witch smiled politely, silently wondering why Angelina Johnson was even at the Burrow. Oh of course, Hermione berated herself. It would make sense, given that she was, unfortunately, Fred's girlfriend. There was no reason why she wouldn't be invited – Hermione sighed again, realizing that her plans to seek comfort from Fred for the entire day were unlikely to come true, not if Angelina had anything to do with it, anyway. She would just have to put on a brave face, and get through the day as if it was a day of examinations at Hogwarts. She chuckled to herself; somehow she always managed to link things back to studying.

A very flustered Ginny pranced into Hermione's bedroom, gave her a casual once over and then proceeded to attack Hermione with some tweezers, an eyeliner pencil and a tube of mascara. Hermione did her best to resist Ginny's advances, but the witch could be really quite forceful when she wanted to.

Hermione, never a big fan of awkward silences and forced conversation, waited until the last moment possible to make her way downstairs. She looked down over the banister to see a mass of people converging in the Weasley's hallway, and spotted Luna amongst them. She grinned, and smoothing down her dress realized she'd have at least one person she could latch onto for the day.

So preoccupied with keeping an eye on Luna, Hermione lost her footing, tripped and stumbled down the last few steps. She'd have probably ended up with a nasty bruise if it wasn't for her saviour; a grinning Fred Weasley who caught her arm and up-righted her before she took a proper tumble.

"Whoops," chuckled Fred, "Nearly, watch yourself, 'Mione, don't want you bruising your pretty little face do we now?"

Hermione blushed at the compliment, not really knowing what to say as she smoothed down her dress.

"You look really nice by the way." Fred admitted, his voice full of sincerity.

"Well you can thank your sister, she seemed determined to brush me up a bit, she wouldn't take notice of me when I said no." Hermione laughed airily.

"Yeah that sounds like Ginny," Fred grinned, "She's certainly a handful, in fact we really ought to warn Harry about what he's getting himself into," he chuckled.

"I'm sure he already knows," Hermione smiled, "After all he's been on the receiving end of Ginny's warpath many a time, now."

"Well then all we can do is wish him good luck and be on with it, I guess," Fred laughed.

"Fred!" Angelina Johnson exclaimed. Hermione turned her head and was greeted by a bejewelled Quidditch star wearing a floor-sweeping maroon dress which looked ridiculously out of place in the Weasley's humble abode. Again, suppressing herself from rolling her eyes, Hermione mustered a weak smile in Angelina's direction.

"Hi Angelina," she said, surprised she managed a tone of politeness.

"Oh hi there, Hermione," Angelina simpered, "I've not seen you in ages, my, haven't you put on weight?"

Fred rolled his eyes apologetically at his girlfriend's lack of tact, but the sheer awkwardness of the situation was making Hermione uncomfortable.

"I'd love to chat," Hermione hastened, "But people to see, greet, you know,"

"Of course," the brazen witch smiled sweetly, "As well, nobody likes being a third wheel, do they?" Hermione took the hint, throwing a fake smile in Angelina's direction and a weaker smile in Fred's. He nodded in acknowledgement to her, with a hint of what seemed to be regret, before turning to engage in a passionate kiss with his girlfriend. It was a positively vomit inducing spectacle to witness, and Hermione quickly made her way out into the garden, where old friends and school mates spilled out across the lawn.

She needed a distraction.

"Hey," Luna smiled, distantly.

"Oh hey, Luna," Hermione smiled fondly at the blonde Ravenclaw. Luna was good at solving problems, or distracting you from your life at the very least. "How've you been?"

"Good, thank you," the witch smiled, "But there's an awful lot of skreeters around here, today," she added as an afterthought.

"Skreeters?" Hermione asked, her tone both polite and confused.

"They're like little wasps that come out when somebody's harbouring feelings of jealously or contempt," she explained, knowledgeably. "Anything on your mind?"

"Just boy trouble," Hermione conceded, not wanting to share any more details. She still wasn't sure just how much she could trust Luna – Hermione suspected the witch, full of good intention, would use Hermione's relationship woes as ammo for conversation with someone that could have disastrous consequences; Lavendar, for example, or heaven forbid, Fred himself. She kept detail to a minimum with Luna, and the witch didn't seem to either notice or mind.

"I see," Luna smiled serenely, and Hermione found herself doubting if the witch really did. "I've got a boyfriend," she announced chirpily. Hermione was taken aback.

"Have you?"

"Oh yes," the witch confirmed amicably. "His name's Blaise Zabini, you might remember him from school?"

Hermione was surprised; she might have matched Luna with bumbling Neville, perhaps, but she didn't see a cunning Slytherin house member to be up Luna's street. Then again, the girl was always full of surprises. "Was he the one friends with Malfoy?"

"Quite right," Luna smiled again. "He's actually quite nice once you get to know him."

"Well I would hope so," Hermione laughed, "Given that he is your boyfriend."

"Oh no," Luna amended, "Blaise is lovely. I was talking about Draco."

"Ahh," was all Hermione managed, and before too long Luna had wandered over to congratulate Harry, no doubt scaring him senseless with talk of some kind of wedding bug or pixie.

A dark skinned gentleman that Hermione recognized as none other than Blaise Zabini, the man that Luna claimed to be dating, approached the Gryffindor golden girl. Not that Hermione didn't put stock in such a claim; she simply didn't seem how Luna and Blaise were a good match. "Excuse me?" His voice was fluid and smooth and he had a well-spoken air.

"Yes?" Hermione quipped, bemused that after years of house rivalry, now was the first time she'd spoken to Malfoy's friend under amicable circumstances – the engagement of Ginny and Harry.

"I'm afraid I don't know my way around here very well," he conceded, "I was wondering if you could show me where the bathroom is?"

"Oh, sure, no problem," Smiled Hermione. "Follow me." The Gryffindor led Zabini through the throngs of people and up a few flights of stairs before they reached the bathroom.

"Here it is," she announced. "Want me to wait here to help you find your way back?" She asked, hopeful that he'd say yes and she'd then have an excuse for something to do.

"Sure," he smiled, as he entered the bathroom. A few moments later and she was rejoined by the elusive Mr Zabini.

"So you're not a big fan of social do's like these, then?" Blaise had asked conversationally, surprising Hermione that he wanted to talk.

"You could say that. Me and any occasion that requires me to change my jeans for a dress isn't good in my books. How come you find yourself here?" She asked, even though she already knew he was likely to be accompanying Luna.

"Luna invited me," he admitted. "I have to say that I feel somewhat out of place here. I know Luna and I aren't the most outlandish of couples, but it would have been nicer to have a bit of a better reception when I arrived," he sighed, "I can't help but think that everyone here's waiting for me to summon my fellow death eaters." He chuckled.

Hermione stared at him.

"Calm down, Granger," Zabini grinned. "I'm not a death eater," he rolled up his sleeves to display his forearms as proof, "And I don't socialize with any, either," he grinned.

"Oh," Hermione managed weakly. Then to his previous point, announced, "Well if it's any consolation I think you and Luna are a lovely couple. I wish you the very best," she smiled.

"Thank you. It's nice to see a Gryffindor able to overcome prejudices of old quite so easily, then again I'm well aware you are the smartest witch of you age." Hermione blushed at the compliment. This Zabini fellow wasn't half as bad as she thought he would be, she really ought to stop judging books by their covers, she chided herself. "Where is it you work?" He enquired.

Hermione blushed, pushing an unruly curl behind her ear. The fact that she worked at Weasley Wizard Wheezes hardly supported the theory that she was the brightest witch of her age, nonetheless, Hermione knew that she enjoyed it, and that really, she had nothing to be embarrassed about.

"Weasley Wizard Wheezes," she announced, nonchalantly. "You?"

"Interesting. What made you take that career path?" The observant Slytherin followed Hermione's gaze until it fell on a certain red head, chatting animatedly away to Angelina Johnson. "Ahh," he sighed in realization. "A guy, huh? Don't worry," he added as an afterthought. "I won't tell anyone."

"I guess you could say that," conceded Hermione. "But as you can see, said guy has inconvenient girlfriend baggage," she explained, gesturing to Angelina.

"If he knows what's good for him he'll open his eyes soon enough, don't worry," Blaise announced, voice sincere and full of wisdom. "But thanks for showing me the toilet; I doubt I'd have found it on my own. I suppose I ought to go find Luna."

"You're welcome," Hermione smiled. "It was nice to meet you… properly," she added.

"You too," Zabini nodded in her direction, before turning his back on her and heading off to find his girlfriend. Once more, Hermione was left alone.

Ginny was helping herself to the mini pizzas on the buffet table; piling her plate as high as she could in true Weasley fashion, when Ali Spokes had approached her. Ginny liked Ali; he was funny and charismatic and she'd had a bit of a crush on him when Fred had first introduced him to the family as his new business partner. She finished her mouthful before saying, "Hey Ali, how're you?"

"I'm great thanks, Ginny," the good-looking wizard had smiled. "Have you seen 'Mione?"

The witch raised her eyebrows but prompted no further comment from Ali. "No I haven't I'm afraid. I'll tell you if I see her, though," she added helpfully.

"Thanks," the wizard had smiled. "Oh and congratulations by the way. I hope I'll be invited to the wedding?"

Ginny nodded, her mouth too full of pizza for her to give a proper answer. Ali chuckled. "Right then, well I'm off to look for a certain bushy haired witch. Keep me informed if you see her," he instructed, and Ginny mock saluted him as she finished the rather delicious goats cheese pizza she'd been eating.

Hermione found the chatter that surrounded her to be irritating – none of it bore any significant relevance to her, anyway, and helping herself to a generous slice of cheesecake, one of her favourites, she retreated to her favourite spot by the window, in the careworn window seat where she often sat with a book or two. Hermione watched out the window and Blaise and Luna lay sprawled on the lawn, talking to one another intimately with no regard for the throng of people around them.

Harry and Ginny were stood comfortably, Harry's arm around Ginny's waist as various guest approached them to offer them their congratulations. Hermione smiled; they were a good couple, they truly were for Ginny's temper was offset by Harry's cool and level headed persona. They made each other laugh, smile, they knew all the right buttons to press. They were happy together, Hermione noted with a sad smile, and she hoped they'd remain that way for many years to come.

Neville Longbottom was talking awkwardly to Hannah Abbott, and he kept running his hands through his hair nervously. Hermione chuckled - Neville had never been one to talk to girls.

The Parvati sisters were talking to Lavendar animatedly, no doubt about something petty like the latest fads in the wizarding world. Ron was stuffing his face over at the buffet table, surprise, surprise, Hermione noted, and the rest of the Weasley's already had plates piled high.

Percy was stood looking rather awkward on his own; that was until Penelope Clearwater – who Hermione had hinted that Molly ought to invite – Percy's long term girlfriend from school approached him and enveloped him in a warm hug, to which Percy responded happily with a slight air of confusion. As far as she knew, their break up had been on mutual terms, and shouldn't be too hard to rekindle. A little orchestration of a couple every now and then was enough to make Hermione feel useful, and it had the added advantage of getting unwanted suitors off the Gryffindor's back.

Hermione sighed as she rested her head against the cool glass of the window. Picking up her book, for she never went far without one, she began to read. She was so engrossed in the pages of her latest novel, that she didn't notice a very miffed Ginny approach her, and practically wrench the book out of the girl's hand.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Ginny glared accusingly.

"Well I was reading, if you hadn't noticed –" She was cut off by Ginny's stare.

"It's my _engagement_ party, 'Mi," Ginny sighed. "I was going to ask you to be my maid of honour but if you don't want to be then I guess I better go find someone else…" Manipulative little cow, Hermione thought to herself, yet she grinned.

"Ginny, I'd love to be your maid of honour!" She smiled, "Although I don't think your Mum will want me to have anything to do with the planning, she seems to have it all under wraps."

"Well then," Ginny bossed, "Get your arse off this window seat and go _talk_ to people. I can't have my maid of honour moping in a corner now, can I?"

"Oh but Ginny –"

"Don't "oh Ginny" me," Ginny glared, "This day is about Harry and I and you are going to make me _happy_ by obliging my request, yes?"

"Fine then," Hermione sighed, and for the rest of the afternoon, made a considerable effort to be sociable.

It was about nine 'o' clock in the evening by the time all the guest had filtered out, and the Weasley mantelpiece was now adorned with "Congratulations" cards; fascinating wizarding inventions where a bride and groom moved across the cards, dancing a waltz, and on another, repeatedly cut a slice of cake again and again. Crookshanks mewed, and Hermione scooped up the ginger scruff-ball, rubbing the crook of the cat's neck till he purred in satisfaction. Hermione herself could do with a massage, for her neck was tense and her jaw was stiff from all the polite smiles she'd managed to force.

 _Especially_ through the family dinner, for Hermione had been subjected to a good two hours or so of condescending drivel and Quidditch garble from Angelina Johnson, who Molly had oh-so-thoughtfully set a place for at the family table. Hermione had concentrated of cutting her chicken kiev into the tiniest of pieces, and had chewed each mouthful at least thirty times to avoid being drawn into the conversation. She'd kept her eyes on the plate for the majority of the meal, but every now and then, had made eye contact with Molly, who regarded her with what looked like a look of pity. Either that or she had bad indigestion, Hermione chuckled. Then she'd kept making awkward eye contact with Fred, who smiled at her warmly before refocusing his attention of his girlfriend and her _amazing_ and oh-so-enthralling tales about how she'd scored a goal for her team the other week.

Hermione suspected that Charlie and Percy were just nodding and smiling politely, too, and she'd known that Bill at least had shared her innate disliking for the girl on the premise that he and Fleur had to retire early because "Fleur needed her beauty sleep", for she had seen the nudge Fleur had given Bill when he'd used this as their excuse for a hasty getaway. She would have given anything to join them; she was subjected to a good hour more of Angelina's riveting idea of decent conversation as everyone polished off their desserts.

Hermione had been sat reading in her room, sitting on the window sill and peering out over the fairy-light lit garden as Fred had said goodbye to Angelina. She knew it was weird to sit and watch, enthralled, as Fred pulled his girlfriend to him and pressed a passionate kiss upon her lips, but it was as if she was glued to the scene, under _Petrificus Totalus_ and unable to move. She sighed. What on earth would Fred Weasley see in her; she paled in mere comparison to the successful chaser. What she wouldn't give, she sighed, to be in Angelina's position as he kissed her.

"Earth to Hermione?" Ginny chuckled as she crossed Hermione's bedroom floor in a few short strides. "What's so interesting that you don't hear me telling you your new books arrived?" The witch laughed, attempting to peer out of the bedroom window over Hermione's shoulder.

Hermione hastily blocked Ginny's view, turning her body so it obstructed the redhead's vision. "N-nothing," Hermione managed weakly, lacking her usual conviction. This of course, only sparked Ginny's curiosity, and in a momentary display of Weasley strength, Ginny had wrenched Hermione out of the way and was looking down at her brother's embrace with Angelina with a look cross between disgust and curiousity, and then a sly grin crept across her features.

"Hermione what were you doing ogling my brother make out with his girlfriend?" Ginny asked, accusingly, a fiery spark in her eyes.

"Oh," Hermione tried opting for nonchalance, but she came out sounding more like she was attempting parseltongue. "I didn't see them," she managed weakly. "I was watching the gnomes."

"And my name's Cedric Diggory," said Ginny, pointedly, telling Hermione that she wasn't falling for a word of the Gryffindor's lie. "Explain yourself, now," the younger witch demanded, quite ferociously, at that.

"There's nothing to explain," a meek Hermione announced.

"Don't give me that bullshit," Ginny warned, as she dragged the witch from the comfort of her spot on the window ledge until she was sat on the bed. "Now spill. I'm guessing you've got a thing for Fred," Ginny dove right in at the deep end, then added, more light-heartedly, "As if you ask me, Angelina isn't really your type."

"Too damn right," Hermione laughed bitterly. "What makes you so sure I've got a thing for Fred, though?" She quizzed.

"Oh please," Ginny sighed, "Give me _some_ credit; I do have eyes you know. I saw the way you blushed and looked away at dinner today, and your dislike for Angie's pretty apparent," Ginny smirked at the recollection of the daggers that Hermione had been throwing in the chaser's direction at dinner. "Not to mention you quit your extremely well-paying job at the ministry to work at some dumb joke shop –"

"It's not a dumb joke shop!" Hermione exclaimed angrily, "You of all people should know that what Fred's managed to achieve is extremely impressive, he's a brilliant wizard with a brilliant brain –" She stopped as she realised she'd fallen into the trap of Ginny's conniving mind games. She sighed. "Alright," she conceded, "You win. I like Fred. But it's not like there's a lot I can do about it, is there?" She exclaimed dejectedly.

Ginny proceeded to punch the air triumphantly, "Knew it," she beamed. Then her face took on a look of thoughtfulness. "Actually," the witch mused, "There _is_ something you can do. It's the oldest trick in the book, mind, but I've got no qualms that it'll work."

"Oh pray do enlighten me, relationship guru," Hermione chanted monotonously in a sarcastic fashion, rolling her eyes.

"Don't be like that, 'Mi," Ginny pouted. "I'm trying to help, you know."

"I know," sighed Hermione. "I'm sorry. What's your idea?"

"It's a good job I love you, you know," Ginny told Hermione. "You can be a real bitch, sometimes," she announced. Well Ginny was known for being brutally honest. "The plan is genius, really, all my darling brother needs is a little tap on the head to make him realise he likes you too."

"There's no way Fred likes me," Hermione sighed.

" _Hello_ ," Ginny smirked, "You're talking to the best relationship guru around. If I wasn't so certain your feelings for my brother are reciprocated, then I wouldn't be making such a big deal out of this. I'd just tease you for having bad taste then we'd both just get on with our lives," Ginny announced pointedly.

"It's like I said; the looks at dinner were a two-way thing, and he wanted you to go work for him as much as you did. He practically raved at Mum for like three hours about how great a member of staff you were, and half the books on your bedside," Ginny indicated to them with a nod of her head, "Were brought for you by him. So don't tell me that I don't know my dim-witted brother well enough to judge when he likes someone. _Trust me._ " Ginny instructed, sincerely. Hermione nodded.

"Okay _fine_ ," Hermione conceded. "What's the plan?"

"We're going to make him jealous." Ginny announced, as if she'd just proposed a plan that would enable the duo to break into Fort Knox.

"That's it?" Hermione asked, not able to keep the trace of disappointment that she felt out of her voice.

"Come on, 'Mi," Ginny whined, "Give me some credit. It's a brilliant plan really… all you have to do is get close to someone in an intimate way –"

"I'm not sure I'd be willing to fake a relationship –" Hermione interrupted, but Ginny proceeded to tell her to grow a pair of balls and man up, if she wanted the plan to work.

"You need to get close to someone who knows and is close to Fred so that Fred will have plenty of opportunity to see you together and realise what he's missing. The problem is, who do you know that's friends with friend?" The redheaded witch mused. Hermione's eyes widened in realisation.

"There's Ali, he works at the shop." Hermione put in. Ginny beamed.

"Of course! How could I forget, he was here at the party today, he asked me where you where, did he find you?"

"No," Hermione admitted, "I may or may not have retreated into hiding by that point." Ginny rolled her eyes.

"It's perfect. Okay, all you have to do is set about flirting with Ali, and before you know it, you'll have Fred's eyes popping out of his head with jealousy, and then all you have to do is ditch Alistair and my idiotic brother is yours. After he breaks up with Angelina, of course," Ginny hastened to add.

Hermione sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating the gravitas of the youngest Weasley's plan. The witch in question seemed pretty certain that is work. What did she have to lose, right?

After a few moments thought, she nodded. "Fine, I'll do it."

Ginny clapped excitably, and that was that.


	8. A Girl Like That?

**Chapter Eight: A girl like that?**

Hermione Jean Granger's sorting had been one of the hardest decisions that the Sorting Hat had had to make in a very long time. For although Hermione had been sorted into Gryffindor nearly the second the hat touched her head, the wizened creature had to contemplate three options. Hermione would have thrived in the environment of Ravenclaw, where her intellect would be far more prized than it seemed to be in the Gryffindor common room, and she'd have had no problem taking on ten more classes than the other students were meant to. Yet Hermione was tired of being labelled as the "smart kid" and wanted to prove that she was different. Then there was the little part of her that would have suited Slytherin; for with a great intellect comes a sense of cunning and being able to manipulate people. This was not a trait Hermione habitually took advantage of, but she was willing to make use of this particularly Slytherin trait if it meant that Fred Weasley would actually sit up and notice her.

Hermione knew that Ginny's schemes usually were successful – there was the time that she'd rallied a protest because the Quidditch pitch had been double booked between Slytherin and Gryffindor, which had resulted in the reds getting to practice (if only, Hermione suspected, to shut Ginny up). There was the time when the redhead took an intense disliking to Fleur Delacour, Bill's wife, and had consequently got the majority of the Weasley family to call her "phlegm" at some point during the wedding. The outraged look on the blonde newly-weds face had truly been hilarious; Hermione had to hand it to Ginny. So it was with this belief that Ginny Weasley's schemes very rarely fell flat on their face that she set out, confident in her venture.

If you were to see Hermione Granger in the street you wouldn't have an instantaneous reaction where your jaw fell open involuntarily, astounded by her beauty, nor would you dream about her for weeks, dying to know the mysterious maiden's name… this was because of the plain and simple truth that Hermione Granger was nothing but ordinary. Sure, she had slightly less frizzy hair, thanks to a few de-frizzing potions that the Gryffindor golden girl had discovered since Hogwarts. Her buck teeth may have been slightly reduced, thanks to the cunning witch letting Madame Pomfrey shrink them a little too much when Malfoy hexed them, and her figure was certainly nice. But she wasn't a page three model, and she didn't have lustrous brown hair that fell down to her knees in Rapunzel curls. She didn't have the world's biggest boobs or massive blue eyes – instead, her orbs were brown, ordinary and plain. Just like Hermione herself.

This wasn't to say she wasn't pretty of course, because she was. She wasn't hideously disfigured, in actual fact, Hermione Granger was actually quite nice to look at, her features were proportionate, her hair offset her face and her sun tinted skin accentuated the healthy glow she emanated. But Hermione Granger was a very firm believer that if a guy is to like you, he has to fall in love with the _real_ you, and not some tanned bimbo that you've turned yourself into. However, she did believe you were allowed to make slight alterations to your appearance, temporary ones, but nonetheless "improvements" as such.

This was why, early one morning before she was scheduled to be at the shop for nine, Hermione was surveying herself critically in the mirror. Under much duress from Ginny, Hermione had been subjected to a compulsory shopping trip to Diagon Alley: phase one in wooing Fred Weasley. As much as it pained the Gryffindor to admit, Ginny really did know what she was doing, and it was with a sigh that Hermione admitted she looked acceptable. Scratch that, actually, for she looked rather good. She'd had her annual hair cut – nothing out of the ordinary, just a few layers and some feathering done to make her locks a little easier to maintain. Her skin was already spattered with freckles and had a faint trace of a tan – something which rather than being coated head to toe in smelling orange gunk, Hermione had obtained from reading outside during the summer months. But it was the outfit that really did it. Given that she was going to be performing stage one of the plan at work, Hermione could hardly waltz in in a ball gown.

Instead, Hermione had opted for a simple pinafore which had been specially fitted so that it clung to the figure that the witch was secretly quite proud of. Her bust had particular emphasis – not something which Hermione usually made a show about displaying – but it definitely made a change. She had on a three quartered length blouse under the pinafore, which was accentuated with a simple pair of black and white flats; very elegant, very no-nonsense, and actually quite sexy, Hermione admitted with a small smile as she applied a modest coat of lip-gloss, and with a "pop", apparated to work.

The shop wasn't especially busy, which Hermione noted with glee, perhaps that would mean she'd have a chance to talk to Ali, and get the ball rolling. She was stacking a shelf with some more Peruvian Darkness powder when a voice behind her made her jump.

"Whatcha, 'Mione," Fred grinned, as he nipped her waist affectionately. She flinched at his touch, and she nudged one of the boxes so that it toppled off the shelf. She scrunched her eyes shut as it made impact with the floor, and the whole back section of the shop was coated in a blanket of darkness. Hermione sighed inwardly. Why did she have to be so jumpy around Fred?

When the dust settled, and Fred had made it disappear with a simple wave of his wand, she braved opening her eyes. Fred was regarding her with a bemused expression, and he leant over to wipe some of the soot off her nose. She felt her cheeks warming under such a simple gesture, and she blushed profusely. "Sorry?" She tried, her voice coming out somewhat squeakier than she'd intended.

"No problem," Grinned Fred, "Anyone would think I was the big bad wolf the way you react to me though, 'Mione." He chuckled. "Must be the Weasley charm, you're helpless to it," he teased, no idea just how close to the truth he was.

"Haha," Hermione managed nervously, before she hurriedly made excuses, mumbling something about Pimple Banisher, and rushing to the back of the storeroom to replenish the stock. Fred stood there looking confused, before he decided he must have caught Hermione at the wrong time of the month, shook his head, and went to go serve someone at the till. He caught sight of Ali, at one of the window displays looking remotely like he wasn't doing anything.

"Oi, Ali," Fred laughed, "Get your ass into the store cupboard and help Hermione restock."

Ali nodded, chuckling to himself as he did, as Fred was really quite bossy at times.

"Here, let me take that," Ali smiled helpfully as he took the precariously balanced box of potions out of the brunette's arms. Hermione had a habit of trying to take on more work than she was physically able to do – something she'd shown at Hogwarts with her erratic coming and going to classes where she'd used the time-turner.

"Thanks," Hermione chuckled, biting her tongue to prevent her from saying something about feminism and how she was perfectly capable of carrying a somewhat heavy box. After all, she was meant to be wooing the wizard, not scaring him senseless. She flashed him what she hoped was her most charming smile, and smoothed down her pinafore. She noted with glee as the older wizard gave her a onceover, then lifted his eyes to her face, smiling broadly. He ran a hand through his hair, the box balanced under one arm and resting on his hip. Hermione bit her lip – she knew that usually got a guy's attention, and sure enough Ali's eyes widened just enough for her to notice. She chuckled inwardly to herself – perhaps this was going to be easier than she'd initially imagined.

They didn't say anything to one another, instead they worked in silence, Hermione careful to shoot "sneaky" looks in the wizard's direction when she knew he was looking at her out of the corner of her eyes. Their eyes would meet, and then they'd both turn away, embarrassed, and blush. This happened several times over, before all the work in the storeroom was done, and they both made their way to the door, desperate to escape the tension surmounting in the room. But so eager to escape the awkwardness of the situation, they both made for a very narrow doorway at the same time, and for want of a better expression, ended up completely trapped. Ali towered over Hermione, his arm propped on the door frame above her head, whilst she herself was practically pressed up against him, looking up into his face which hosted an inquisitive expression. It would have been the moment in a film that two characters are overcome with sexual tension and they leap into one another's arms and wild passionate sex ensues. But seeing as this wasn't a film, and Hermione thought it was hardly appropriate to be having such wicked thoughts given that she barely knew the guy, she did the next best thing.

She asked him out for coffee.

He stared at her in shock for a few moments, a variety of emotions flitting across his face. First there was confusion, as he thought he'd probably misheard her. Then, as he saw her earnest and slightly embarrassed expression, he changed to shock – the fact that he'd been asked out by such a beautiful and confident witch wasn't something that regularly happened to Ali. Then his face filled with warmth, and he grinned.

"Sure, I'd absolutely love to. How about lunch?"

Hermione nodded enthusiastically, "Sounds like a date," she smiled, before hastily adding, "That is if you want it to be."

Ali chuckled deeply. "That's fine, a date it is."

A cough broke them out of their conversation and they both broke apart from their close proximity in the doorframe. Fred shoved through the gap, looking rather perturbed as he made his way into the storeroom without saying a word. Ali and Hermione both shot each other looks, raising eyebrows as they watched the redhead fumble with some boxes. Ali shrugged, and walked off to serve a customer, and Hermione remained by the door, watching as Fred clumsily rooted for a box.

A few moments later he came out of the store room not holding anything.

"Couldn't find what you were looking for?" Hermione asked conversationally, an innocent expression on her face. She suspected Fred had probably witnessed the exchange in the door way between her and his other employee, and was feeling suitably awkward.

"I ah," Fred cleared his throat, "Forgot what I went in there for. Would you watch the shop for me a minute, um, Hermione?" He asked, and Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Sure?"

"I need to owl Angelina," Fred explained, and Hermione's stomach fell right through the floor to China. Oh.

Trade was unusually slow that day, and Hermione found herself watching the clock, counting down the minutes until the "open" sign would automatically switch for "closed", and she'd have an hour or so of freedom before it opened again. Ali had been sending furtive glances her way every now and then, and she found herself smiling at the wizard. He really _was_ quite handsome, and it was nice to have somebody interested in her at the very least.

Fred had come back rubbing his hands together – something he usually did when he was nervous or pleased about something – and got on with business as usual. He didn't comment when it finally came to lunch time and Ali helped Hermione into her jacket, as they made their way out into the sun warmed streets of Diagon Alley. Instead he rushed upstairs to the flat where most of his belongings had now been shifted, one step at a time to prevent alerting his mother – he still hadn't informed her about his plans to move – and found a shirt that Angelina was least likely to moan about. He settled on a burgundy polo shirt, jeans and his Vans. These were muggle shoes which Hermione had introduced him and his brothers to, and he'd fallen in love with them instantaneously. They were so _comfy_.

As they walked down the streets searching for a place to have coffee, Hermione found that to her delight she didn't have to _pretend_ to fancy Ali; she honestly laughed at his jokes because he was funny, nodded sincerely as they discussed the state of the Ministry and smiled back at him as he flashed her a toothy grin. They settled on Madame Puddifoots – something Hermione would never normally do, except it was the only café with outdoor seats vacant.

"Is this alright?" Ali asked, nervous, eager, it seemed, to make a good impression.

"Just fine," Hermione had smiled, refusing to comment on the frivolous pink furniture, lace table cloths, and how it reminded her of Professor Umbridge's office. She had hated that woman.

"So how come you're working with us now?" He'd asked conversationally, wondering why a bright witch like Hermione had jeopardised a successful and high-earning career at the ministry for a seemingly silly career in comparison.

Hermione faltered. She was hardly going to tell him that she'd given up her entire future just to help out a guy that she was completely and utterly in love with, yet who it seemed wasn't even aware that she existed. Especially not when she was currently drinking coffee in a romantic setting with a guy who clearly liked her, or else why would he have agreed to get a drink together? So instead she spewed a long and intricate tale about her disapproval at how the ministry was run, and that she was friends with the Weasleys so they'd kindly employed her at the shop after she'd quit her job. Alistair seemed disappointed by this.

"So you're only at the shop temporarily, then?" He asked, confused.

"No, no, no," Hermione rushed, "I'm staying for as long as Fred will have me. It's such a wonderful place to work," she blushed, having not so innocent thoughts about Fred. This of course, was misconstrued by Ali, who chuckled and blushed thinking that the Gryffindor golden girl was referring to the fact that he worked here.

"So what brings you to working in a joke shop, then?" Hermione asked, conversationally. Ali shrugged.

"I've never really known what to do with my life – and then I saw the ad in the paper, Fred hired me right away given that we used to be quite good mates at school. Then I winded up working with this really beautiful girl, and now I'm thinking it's the best career choice I've made in my life," he finished cheesily, smiling at Hermione.

She fingered her tea cup handle awkwardly. As nice as Alistair was, she wasn't _that_ enamoured with him, and she had a feeling that things were progressing a little faster than either she or Ginny could have anticipated. She managed a weak smile, before taking a sip of her cappuccino, and very nearly choking on it, as she spluttered into a napkin.

Alistair looked at her worriedly. Then he followed her line of sight.

Fred Weasley, clad in a maroon shirt, and wearing a tight fitting pair of jeans, had his hand on the back of his long-term girlfriend, and was nonchalantly ushering her into Madame Puddifoots, nodding and listening to whatever the Quidditch star was babbling on about, now. Alistair raised an eyebrow. "I wonder what he's doing here?" He asked out loud.

Hermione opted for nonchalance. "No idea," she admitted. "I don't think he's seen us, though."

"No I don't think he has - shall I call him over?"

Hermione hurriedly shook her head. "No it's fine, I much rather spend time with you," she rushed, and Ali smiled.

"So whereabouts d'you live?"

"With Fred." It slipped out before Hermione realised how bad it sounded. Ali's eyebrows shot up further than they had before, and Hermione struggled to amend her previous statement, "I mean I live with the whole Weasley family, at the burrow. My parents are in Australia with no recollection that they have a daughter, so Molly – that's Fred's mum – took me in. Fred's moving out in a few weeks, though, to the flat above the shop" Hermione added, and then Ali nodded understandingly.

"I'm sorry to hear about your parents," he added, his voice filled with genuine emotion and sincerity. "My parents died when I was little," he explained, "So I know how hard it is not having them in your life. You can talk to me about it anytime, OK?"

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Ali that means a lot. But I'm OK for now."

Suddenly there was an excited exclamation as Angelina Johnson recognised Hermione, from where they were sat a few feet away. Fred looked embarrassed, as his girlfriend called over the waitress, and within two minutes – for nobody denied the request of an International Quidditch player – their two tables had been pushed together.

"So Hermione, are you on a date then?" Angelina asked, rather obtusely.

Ali but in, "It's early days but I think me and Hermione click," he smiled at the witch and she smiled weakly back, not trusting herself to say anything.

"Is that right?" Fred asked, looking at Hermione pointedly. "It's just Hermione hasn't mentioned anything to me before about liking you, that's all."

Ali chuckled nervously, and Angelina butted in. "I suppose it's a while since you've had any action, isn't it, Hermione?" She asked, "A girl is bound to get lonely after, what, like a seventeen years of being single?"

Everyone around the joined tables breathed inwardly, sharply. "Actually," Hermione corrected the witch, "I broke up with Ron a few weeks after the battle. And before that there was Cormac McLaggen, and Viktor Krum."

Angelina nodded, looking somewhat unimpressed at Hermione's distinct lack of relationships, "Oh," she'd muttered, and Fred, Hermione noted, was staring at his girlfriend in something akin to disbelief.

"You went out with Viktor Krum, the Quidditch star?" Ali asked nervously, in seeming disbelief.

Hermione nodded, "I was fifteen OK, it was hardly the most serious relationship I've ever had. But yeah, we ended it on mutual terms – he still writes to me every now and then," she added, thanks to Ginny, who had told her that the Krum card was a good hand, and was bound to make any guy jealous. Fred and Ali had both cocked their heads and were now listening intently, whilst Angelina picked at her nails.

"My coffee is cold," the witch announced. "I want another one." She demanded, and moments later, she had a steaming hot cup in front of her, and surprise, surprise, this one was too hot. Hermione sighed and tapped the side of the cup with her wand, lowering the temperature of it slightly. Angelina huffed, and Fred mumbled,

"You could say thanks, Angie," Fred pointed out, and his girlfriend shrugged. An apologetic look from Fred made Hermione's heart thump nervously in her chest.

"How come you're not at the shop, working?" asked Angelina somewhat pointedly.

"It's our lunch hour," Hermione responded coolly. "In which Ali and I decided to grab a coffee."

"Hmm yes, I'd lay off the cake if I were you. Wouldn't want to put on any more weight or you might not fit back into the shop." The witch cackled, thinking she was hilarious, not yet noting the looks of disbelief and outright disgust she was being met with from everyone around the table.

"Angie!" Exclaimed Fred, outraged. "That's no way to talk to Hermione! She's not fat, she's perfect, and she also happens to be my friend. I don't know what you have against her but could you please apologise to her?"

Ali and Hermione merely sat there with their mouths slightly agape. If Hermione wasn't in a state of shock she'd have blushed at Fred's admission that she was "perfect", instead she merely stared at the rowing couple.

"Why on earth are you defending that buck-toothed bitch for?" Angelina exclaimed hysterically, "I was only kidding!"

"Well that's not my idea of a joke," Fred spat, "And given that I work in my own joke shop, I reckon I've got more of a clue than you do!"

"Well if that's the case why don't you apologise on behalf of your immature girlfriend's behaviour then, because I'm sure as hell not doing it. In fact, I'm leaving, this is the worst lunch date ever." The spoilt witch spat, as she pushed her chair out and stood up to apparate.

"Wait, Angie," Fred groaned, getting up to stop her, before turning to Hermione and saying, "Look I'm really sorry Angie but you're out of order here. Hermione's done nothing wrong. I'm sorry Hermione."

Angelina sniffed, and with a "poof", apparated no doubt to work off her anger by flying a few laps around the pitch she no doubted had in her luxurious back garden that her "Daddy" had bought her.

Fred sighed, resting his head in his hands on the table "I'm not going to go after her," he announced to nobody in particular. "I'm always the one doing the chasing, and nothing ever comes of it. She was in the wrong here, I'll let her sweat it a bit," he decided. Hermione watched with wide eyes the events that had just unfurled.

Ali was uncomfortably fiddling with a napkin, astutely aware of the third wheel that had just crashed his and Hermione's date. Poor Ali had no inclination that he was the _real_ third wheel.

"I really am sorry about that, Hermione," Fred admitted, entirely ignoring his friend Ali, sat across the table from Hermione.

"It's fine, honestly Fred," she sighed, "Angelina and I have never really clicked for reasons unbeknown to me," she lied through her teeth – fully aware that the reason she despised Angelina so much was because she was dating Fred, a fact so obvious that she was beginning to suspect that Angelina was fully aware of her feelings.

"But I wanted you to get along!" Fred sighed exasperatedly. "You're my two number one girls and well it just kind of sucks that you hate each other!"

"I'd say hate is a pretty strong word," Hermione argued diplomatically, blushing at the thought of being Fred's number one anything. "But I'll try and get along better with her for your sake." She smiled. Fred beamed, and they both entirely forgot about Ali who was currently sat there feeling extremely put out.

He cleared his throat, and Fred turned to him with a look of surprise, as if only just realising his presence.

"So," Fred began, "Sorry to interrupt your date but we really should be getting back to the shop." He wrung his hands again, shooting his trademark apologetic look to Ali this time. He didn't really look remotely sorry to be spoiling their date.

"Fine," remarked Ali, somewhat bitterly, "Let's go. Rain check on the date, Hermione?"

Hermione paused. She really needed to up her game if Fred was going to pay even the slightest bit of attention to her. "Sure. I was wondering if you wanted to come to Harry and Ginny's wedding with me, actually, you know, considering we're both invited and yeah well I just supposed –"

Ali cut her off with a chaste kiss to the cheek. "It would be my pleasure, Hermione," he smiled somewhat triumphantly, before shooting a look at Fred who was opting for a care-free expression, except it was coming across as more constipated than anything else. "You alright mate?" He added.

"Just dandy," smiled Fred fakely as he set off walking several feet in front of Hermione and her newfound beau. Just dandy.


	9. Why Can't You See?

**Chapter 9: Why Can't You See?**

Harry was woken up with a jolt as Ron threw himself down with a certain amount of force on the bed that currently belonged to the raven haired man. But not for much longer – the Weasley's wedding present to their daughter and Harry had been a group effort cleaning up and redecorating Grimmauld place, turning it into the perfect marital home for the newly-wed couple. "Wake up, you git!" cried Ron, who was sporting a rather impressive hickey on his neck which, no doubt, Mrs Weasley would have a fit if she saw.

"Hurry up Harry," Ron whined, "You're getting married in three hours and I need your help getting rid of this," he gesticulated to the purpling flesh on his neck. Harry's eyes widened – he'd still not slept with Ginny, and it was with a brilliant grin that he realised that tonight was his wedding night.

Picking up his wand from his dresser and pushing his glasses further up his nose, Harry performed the incantation which healed Ron's neck. The day was going to be stressful enough, without Mrs Weasley going ballistic because of Ron's lack of self-control.

"Cheers," Ron grinned enthusiastically, "You ought to get ready though, mate, the guests will be arriving in a bit."

"OK, OK," groaned Harry, his face sinking into his pillow, "I'm getting up." Fifteen minutes later, wearing nothing but his pinstripe pyjama bottoms, Harry found himself at the Weasley breakfast table, munching on cereal even though his appetite was none existent, for his stomach was turning cartwheels in anticipation for the day's events.

Gradually the other Weasley boys drifted downstairs, and it was with a grin that Fred announced, "It's a good job we like you, Harry, it's not every day that we let some specky git marry our sister, you know."

He chuckled nervously, "Gee, thanks Fred. I'll do my best to make her happy, though, that I can promise you." He added sincerely. Charlie smiled wryly, watching the exchange, and Ron butted in.

"You already do, mate. She's been smiling ever since you proposed to her – it's actually rather annoying, really," he added in an undertone, and the entirety of the breakfast table chuckled. Ron was always bitter when it came to who Ginny chose to date. It was a good job that nobody had brought up the associations that came with a "wedding night" – for if they had then Ron would most likely regurgitate his breakfast. Then again, he probably wouldn't. Ron's appetite was something magical in itself; anyone would have thought he'd enchanted his stomach to expand so that he could eat even more of his Mum's delicious cooking.

Whilst Harry was in the small bathroom, struggling to smooth his hair down for just _one_ day in his entire life, Ginny was sitting on her bed staring into space as Hermione entered.

"You alright Ginny?" Hermione asked, as she saw the redhead clutching her knees as if meditating, gazing into the distance.

The bride-to-be jumped at the presence of her maid of honour. She smiled, "I'm getting married," she announced softly, "to the love of my life. I couldn't be better. I was beginning to think you weren't going to wake up. Will you help me into my dress?"

"Sure," grinned Hermione as she slid the white gown out of the sleeve it had been in for the past few weeks. It was a simplistic creation – but apparently all the women in the Weasley family had worn it, and Ginny had wanted to continue the tradition. It had been modified to fit her, mind. The halter neck fastened with a white gold band at the nape of her neck, and cinched at the waist, clinging to Ginny's excellent figure – credit to all the years she had spent playing Quidditch. The rest of the dress floated out in layers, with a split down the side of one leg to allow for easy manoeuvre during dances – for Harry wasn't the most expert of dancers, and Ginny would need to do most of the navigating.

Ron burst into the room, and Ginny yelped, "Ronald! I could have been naked!"

He winced at the thought, "But you're not though, are you?" Ginny rolled her eyes. "Anyway, Harry said to give you this." He held out an intricate heart shaped locket, quite heavy, and made of gold, but it would certainly qualify for "something old". "It was his Mum's apparently, he found it in Sirius's stuff. He wanted you to have it," Ron smiled, knowing that there was no one better suited for his sister than his best mate. Hermione watched the exchange between brother and sister with a sad smile on her face.

"He also said to give you a kiss, but we both know that's not going to happen," Ron admitted, with a chuckle. Ginny giggled, and Hermione ushered Ron out of the room so she could continue preparing the bride for the big day. There was a crash from outside as the big oak tables that Bill had been levitating fell to the floor, and Molly Weasley's shouting could be heard from the very top floor of the house.

"I can't believe you're getting married before me, Gin," Hermione admitted as she slipped bobby pins into the redhead's elegant up-do.

"It'll be your turn before you know it,: Ginny grinned wickedly. "Any progress with the Fred situation?"

"Not a lot," Hermione sighed, "But there's been a lot of progress in the Ali department. I invited him as my date to the wedding, right in front of Fred."

"What did Fred do?!" Ginny asked excitedly, and Hermione shrugged nonchalantly.

"Well he had this kind of constipated look on his face," I guess, "But then again he could have just eaten something dodgy, I'm not sure."

Ginny shook her head. "No, I know that look – it's how he looks when Charlie and Bill tease him about failing his driving test the first time, he acts like he doesn't care but really he does. I bet you a galleon that he was jealous."

"You're on," laughed Hermione, as she slipped Molly Weasley's contribution into Ginny's hair – something borrowed – a small tiara with a blue stone set in the middle. She supposed that covered the "something blue" side of things, too. "But I really hope he notices me soon. It's awful listening to him make jokes that I'm "impervious to the Weasley charm" when really he's a little too close to the truth for my liking. It just sucks. He doesn't even know I exist," Hermione sighed.

Ginny frowned. "Well he's not going to notice you with a defeatist attitude like that, is he? C'mon," ushered Ginny, drawing Hermione to her wardrobe. "What we need to do is get you into a killer dress, Ali won't be able to keep his eyes – or hands – off you," the witch giggled, "And you'll have my brother's eyes popping out of their skulls." She concluded, triumphantly.

"Wait," Hermione puzzled, "Brothers? As in plural?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me that you haven't noticed the way that Percy drools over you whenever you're in the room? I'm pretty sure Charlie and Ron both want a piece of you too, not to mention Fred. You're going to knock them for six though, in this dress," Ginny flourished as she drew a floor length red ball gown.

Whatever Hermione was going to say got stuck in her throat. It was beautiful; a deep red plum colour, strapless, cinched at the waist and flowing out into a lightweight yet elegant skirt.

"Well what are you waiting for!" chuckled Ginny. "Try it on!"

Hermione eagerly slipped off her camisole and shorts that she'd worn to bed, blushing at the realisation that Ron had seen her in her pyjamas. She slipped into the dress and looked at herself in the mirror, her eyes taking in the way the fabric clung to her figure perfectly – almost as if it had been bought for her. She turned to Ginny accusingly, who was smirking wickedly.

"Ginny, why did you buy me this?" She asked.

Ginny shrugged, "I knew you wouldn't treat yourself, and I figure that my maid of honour needs to look pretty god damn hot if she's going to get the attention of the guy she's liked for _ageeees_."

Hermione sighed defeated. "It's beautiful, Ginny, thank you."

"No Hermione," Ginny smiled. "Thank you. I couldn't have survived my Mum going ape about today if it wasn't for you placating her every step of the way. See this as my thank you gift," she proposed.

Hermione beamed. "I need to go do my hair and have a shower. Will you be ok here on your own?" Ginny nodded, ushering Hermione out of her room with a flap of her hands.

Hermione was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she wasn't really looking where she was going as she clambered up the stairs, on her way to the communal bathroom on the top floor. This was why she collided with a freckled redhead, who had been taking the stairs two steps at a time. With a resounding "oomph" and an almighty crash, Hermione Jean Granger landed right on top of an alarmed Fred Weasley.

"Watch it 'Mione," Fred beamed up at her, not really caring that the fall had distinctly bruised his back. "Just because Harry's finally going to get some tonight doesn't mean you have to jump on the bandwagon and try and get some from the poor unsuspecting redhead going downstairs."

Hermione blushed profusely, but made no move to get off Fred as they exchanged banter about her desire to "get some" as Fred had so delightfully put it. This was the state in which Charlie found them in; minutes later, with Hermione sitting in Fred's lap, and the two of them in absolute hysterics. He raised an eyebrow, and continued upstairs – weddings did strange things to people, it seemed.

When Hermione finally did reach the bathroom, so preoccupied with thoughts she oughtn't be having about a certain Fred Weasley, she forgot to knock on the bathroom door (the lock was broken and nobody had thought to fix it with a simple "repairo", yet), and swinging it open was greeted with a rather undressed Percy Weasley, who yelped at the intrusion, blushing profusely as he realised it was the Gryffindor brunette he had a thing for.

Hermione shrieked, covering her eyes and exclaiming her apologies again and again, as she backed out of the room, her cheeks the colour of the dress she would be wearing to the ceremony.

She waited, leaning against the wall and waiting for the room to be vacant. When Percy finally emerged, he was looking very determined, he nodded to Hermione as if the incident moments before hadn't happened, and then made his way to the bedroom. His attempt at calm was only diminished by the fact that he tripped over his own feet as he passed the Gryffindor golden girl, and Hermione had to struggle to suppress a snigger. She slipped into the bathroom, and not wanting to take any chances, repaired the lock with a simple wave of her wand. She sighed, relaxing under the refreshing water of the shower.

That was until it turned completely cold – the hot water supply exhausted, as it would be, when ten people before you have already had a shower. Hermione groaned, and swathing herself in a fluffy towel with a dragon motif (probably Charlie's) she proceeded to dry her hair with her wand. She charmed it to fall in loose curls, and armed with a can of Muggle hairspray and a hell of a lot of bobby pins, she fixed it into an elegant up-do, not dissimilar to the way that she'd worn her hair at the Yule ball in her fourth year.

Slipping into the dress that Ginny had bought her, and applying a touch of makeup she made her way downstairs to where the guests were beginning to arrive. She spotted Alistair a few metres away, talking to Luna Lovegood with a bemused expression on his face, and she swept in to rescue him. He beamed at her intrusion, for the blonde witch had been talking absolute nonsense, she was quite clearly crazy. But his eyes widened as he took in the appearance of his date – she really was jaw-droppingly beautiful, and he would be proud to have her on his arm for the duration of the ceremony, and if he was so lucky, many more dates to come.

"Can I get you something to drink?" He asked, "You look absolutely stunning, may I just say," he smiled and Hermione smirked.

"You don't look too bad yourself," she conceded, linking her arm through his as he made his way to the drinks tent, where a very frazzled Arthur Weasley was trying to serve drinks. Hermione chuckled.

In the upstairs rooms of the burrow, Molly Weasley had just seen her only daughter in her wedding dress, and had promptly burst into tears. She was only just recovering, sniffing distastefully as Fleur had burst into the room holding a garter with the price tag still on.

"Zis will cover ze something new part, non?" The blonde witched had asked, with a toss of her glossy hair. Ginny had bitten her lip, nodded and slipped it on, much to her mother's disapproval.

"Thank you, Fleur," Ginny conceded, calling the witch by her actual name for the first time, ever.

Fleur shook her head, waving the gesture away as she admitted. "You are a beautiful bride, 'Arry will be very proud to call you 'is wife."

Ginny's eyes, now brimming with tears, enveloped the tall French girl in a hug.

Just across the hall, Harry was buttoning up the dress robes he'd bought especially for the occasion. He had a white flower of some sorts fastened in the button hole, and as he was fastening his shoelaces, Ron burst into the room looking extremely flustered.

"This is from Ginny," Ron sighed as he placed a fleeting kiss on Harry's cheek. "Please don't ask me why I did that, she said she'd hex me with the bat-bogey hex if I didn't do it."

Harry burst out laughing. That sounded just like something his bride-to-be would do, he grinned, and he reassured Ron that as his best mate he wouldn't make him relay any more kissagrams, whether Ginny threatened him to or not.

Ron's voice took on a serious tone. "Seriously mate, nobody has ever made my sister as happy as you have. She loves you, and you don't even have to say it – I know you love her as well. There isn't anyone else in the entire world that I would rather have as my brother in law. It's about time you became an official part of the family," He grinned, enveloping his best friend in a bone crushing hug.

"Careful Ron," Harry choked, chuckling, "You'll crush my flower."

Ron pulled away promptly, "I haven't have I? Mum will kill me if I have, shit!"

Harry chuckled throatily, "Calm down I was joking you plonker."

"Ah," sighed Ron in relief, "Git. You nervous?"

"More excited," grinned Harry, as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Eugh," grimaced Ron, "Too much information – she is my baby sister, you know!"

"That's why it's funny," Harry grinned as he dodged the punch that Ron threw in his direction, as the redhead rolled his eyes half-heartedly.

As Ron left the room, Harry sighed, his eyes brimming with tears. The most beautiful girl in the world was going to be his wife in less than an hour. He couldn't wait.

Hermione slipped away from her date on the premise of having "maid of honour" duties to perform. Ali had nodded amicably, and to Hermione's delight, made his way over to talk to Fred. This could be interesting, she mused, but she couldn't hang around so she rushed into the house.

Ginny was ready. It had taken a good few hours, a few shed tears, and a little bit of a panic as they couldn't find the bride's left shoe, but everything was sorted and the ceremony was about to begin. The youngest Weasley was enveloped in an air-stealing hug from her Mum, before she was left alone in her bedroom with Hermione.

"That dress really suits you, 'Mione, I'm so glad I've got you – you're the only thing that's preventing me from hyperventilating right now."

Hermione chuckled, "You're the beautiful one, missy. Harry's a very lucky man – few men get married to such perfect brides. I sincerely hope that today is everything you want it to be and more."

Again, tears filled the eyes of Ginny Weasley. "Fred deserves someone like you. I hope he comes round."

"Me too. Me too," Hermione sighed. "Are you feeling nervous?" She asked, trying to steer the conversation away from her and her problems – this was Ginny's day, after all.

"Surprisingly, no," Ginny admitted. "I know I should be, but I knew Harry was the man I wanted to marry in my second year when he saved me down in the chamber of secrets. He had this fiercely protective look in his eye, and I knew that he would always take care of me, no matter what. It's taken us so long to get here – so much has happened since then and now – but I feel like there's nothing I've been more certain of than this moment. I love Harry, and he loves me. So no, in fact, I couldn't be happier," the redheaded witch smiled fondly at the memory.

It seemed like only yesterday that Ginny had been asking her my where her jumper was – to discover it was on the cat – and seeing Harry Potter sat at their breakfast table. She'd ran away, nervous, and she giggled at the memory.

"I'm glad you've got Harry," Hermione admitted, "Although I was preparing myself to give him a kick in the right direction if he didn't make a move sometime soon," she giggled.

"As much as I love him, yes," Ginny chuckled, "He is rather obtuse."

A gentle knock on the door broke the conversation apart as Mr Weasley stepped into the room. He smiled fondly at his youngest daughter – and perhaps favourite child, even though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, ever.

"I'm proud of you Ginny," he choked, tearing up. "Harry's a very lucky man. Everyone's ready – your mother said come down when you're ready."

"I've been ready since I was eleven, Dad, and I first lay eyes on Harry James Potter. So I don't think it's a wise idea to keep the man of my dreams waiting," she beamed, "Let's go."

Ginny gasped as she stepped outside. The garden had been transformed into the most idyllic of settings; the marquee filled with thousands of lilies in shades of cream and green that matched her beau's eyes. Fairy lights were wrapped around the seating, and the whole place was lit up, emanating a warm glow.

Hermione inhaled deeply, taking in the fragrance as she walked the bride down the aisle to the eerie yet beautiful wizarding music that was played at most wizarding weddings. Bill and Fleur had opted for a less traditional march, but this was perfect for Ginny and Harry. It showed the archaic nature of their relationship, the boundaries they'd crossed together, and the knocks they'd remained strong against.

Somewhere at the back, in a reinforced larger seat, Hagrid was sobbing into his orange and blue spotted handkerchief. Hermione struggled to supress a giggle, as she took in the guests watching Ginny's glorious progression. Percy was sat upright in his chair, but there could be tears in the corner of his eyes, as he nodded stiffly in the Gryffindor's direction. She flushed at the thought of Percy Weasley in his birthday glory –not something that you tended to see on a day to day basis. She caught George and Alicia's gaze, who smiled fondly as their daughter slept softly in the cradle perched on his lap. They beamed happily, already knowing the joy that matrimony could bring to two people very much in love.

Bill was smiling fondly at his favourite sister, no shame as a fat tear made its way down his cheek. Fleur rested her head on his shoulder, her protruding stomach sign of the newest addition to the Weasley family that was soon to come. Charlie grinned cheekily at Hermione and Ron beamed at her from where he stood, in best man position next to Harry. Then finally Hermione's eyes fell on Fred, her breath hitching in her throat as she took in his styled hair, elegant and fitted tux. She sighed as she noted the witch next to him, who seemed to be gripping his forearm possessively. Hermione had to hand it to her; the exquisite gold dress that the Quidditch star was boasting truly _was_ remarkable. Perhaps she would have a harder job of getting Fred to notice her, than Ginny had envisaged. She sighed, turning to face the front as they walked the last few steps.

If only she'd seen the way that Fred Weasley's eyes lingered not on his sister, in her beautiful gown, or his father in his clumsy awkward progression up the aisle, or even his sister's beau as he stood beaming waiting for the girl of his dreams. They lingered on her, as he watched fondly as his number one girl made her way up the aisle with her sister, determined to make this day the best that she could for everyone involved. Perhaps then, that would have shown Hermione that this venture wasn't quite as futile as it may seem.

Harry noticed none of the expressions on his guest, or new in-laws faces. He was far too busy staring transfixed at the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Harry hadn't thought he could be happier than he'd been when Ginny Weasley had agreed to marry him – however, _this_ , seeing her glide down the aisle, her arm in the crook of her fathers as she smiled softly at him, far surpassed that.

Her thick red hair was poker straight, swept to the side and exposing the tantalising flesh of her neck. The dress was something else, clinging to her perfect figure, but it was her expression that meant so much to Harry. It spoke "I love you" in a thousand different languages, and it was this that was causing Harry's heart to thump manically in his chest.

Molly Weasley sobbed softly and Harry's eyes welled with similar salty tears as Mr Weasley whispered something to his daughter, bringing a smile to her face. The portly figure that Harry had come to treat as his own father bent towards him. "I give my daughter to you, on the premise that you love and cherish her, which I am sure you will do. I love you, son," he smiled, and Harry freely let the tears course down his cheeks. This was what it was like to have a family, he realised as he turned to face his beautiful bride.

Taking Harry's hand in her own, Ginny and Harry both stepped onto the altar where the minster of magic would perform the ceremony.

"We are gathered here today in order to join together two people whose love is strong enough to overcome adversity, and remain true in a period of darkness. Nobody who has ever met this bright young witch and fearsome wizard is able to deny their love – for their love is true, it is pure, it is everlasting. Even though they have faced more trials than the rest of us put together, they have stood life's test and here with us now, triumphant in their victory." The minister smiled fondly at the grinning couple in front of him.

"The couple here with us today have written their own vows to one another. Please proceed, Harry," the older wizard smiled warmly.

Harry rubbed his scar – which hadn't pained him since the end of the battle – a sign that he was nervous. He breathed deeply, turning to take both of Ginny's hands in his own, once the redhead had passed her bouquet to Hermione, who was sniffling silently already.

"Ginny, ever since I first met you I knew that you were special. Although it took me a hell of a lot longer to realize how I felt, than it did you," here everybody laughed. Harry's obtuseness was something of a running joke. "That doesn't mean that my feelings for you are any less real. I love you, Ginny Weasley, and all I knew is that I want to spend the rest of my life with you – making you happy and sharing the precious moments that we can together. You are my family," Harry gestured to the Weasleys sat around him, "And I couldn't wish to have a better mum, a better dad, better brothers – even if I usually am the recipient of your pranks," he grinned at Fred and George. "You mean the world to me, all of you, but none of you more than Ginny. Ginny, you are my world – you keep me spinning round day by day because I'm completely head over heels in love with you."

"Miss Weasley?" Kingsley smiled fondly.

Ginny chuckled, realising, "That's the last time you're going to be able to call me that, Minister," the redhead giggled, as did the congregation.

"Harry James Potter. I have loved you ever since I was eleven years old; I have always known you were the man for me. You're my missing piece of the puzzle of life – but I've found you, and you complete me. Thinking you were dead was the most heart-wrenching gut-twistingly painful moment of my entire existence – words cannot describe – but from that moment forth I knew I wanted to love you and cherish you for the rest of our happy existence. You are my best friend," she choked, as she shot a glance in her Mother's direction, who was now in floods of tears. Uncontrollable floods of tears, at that. "There is nothing I have wanted more than for you to finally be a part of my family – and I much rather you married me than Ron," she admitted to giggles. Ron chuckled deeply from where he was stood behind Harry.

"Do you Harry James Potter; take Ginevra Molly Weasley to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," grinned Harry.

"Do you, Ginevra Molly Weasley, take Harry James Potter to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do," choked a very emotional Ginny.

"You may place the rings of Harry's parents, Lily and James Potter, on your partner's fingers." The congregation watched with baited breath as the small gold bands were slipped onto fingers. They grasped hands, interlacing their fingers. "I now pronounce you man and wife," Kingsley grinned broadly, "You may kiss the bride!"

And that was exactly what Harry James Potter proceeded to do, as he took his wife into his arms, and let his love be known to everyone watching, amidst cheers and catcalls from most of Ginny's siblings. Only Percy sat silently on the bench, smiling fondly as his new brother and his sister showed their love for one another. If only he had somebody who felt about him that way, he sighed, as his eyes drifted to Hermione's. The brunette's eyes were obviously resting upon no one other than his brother, and Percy felt all the fight go out of him.

There was no way that Percy Weasley could compete with the way the Gryffindor golden girl clearly felt for his brother, Fred, so it was with a sad and somewhat bittersweet note, that he resolved that he would have to settle for being friends. Just friends. And nothing more.


	10. Standing By

**Chapter 10: Standing By**

The after party was in full swing and Hermione couldn't help but notice just how much effort Molly Weasley had put into the proceedings; there was laughter and merriment everywhere the Gryffindor golden girl looked.

George and Alicia had entrusted their baby daughter to Aunt Muriel, and were waltzing across the floor, humongous smiles plastered on their faces. Percy was smiling for the first time in ages, Hermione noted, as he chatted to his old flame Penelope Clearwater. She grinned to herself, glad she'd ensured that the Ravenclaw had been invited. She'd noticed the pointed looks that the rule abiding Weasley threw in her direction, when he didn't think Hermione was looking. It would be nice to have him off her back. That way she wouldn't feel guilty.

Ron was nuzzling Lavendar's neck from where they sat at one of the booths. It was all that Hermione could do, not to retch. Ron really had no sense of tact, she chuckled to herself. She crossed her fingers, hoping that Molly would come across Ron's behaviour and that he'd receive a classic "talking to". Heaven knows, he needed it, she chuckled to herself.

Charlie was chatting to a pretty blonde, a friend of Fleur's called Audrey, but she didn't seem too interested – unusual, Hermione thought, for there were very few witches who were immune to the charm of the dragon tamer. She followed the blonde's gaze and was surprised to find her eyes alighted on none other than Percy – who was still deep in conversation with Penelope. She made a mental note to introduce the girl, feeling slightly wicked at her idea of fobbing Percy off onto some poor unsuspecting witch.

Arthur Weasley was still trying to serve drinks, a frazzled look on his face as he decanted champagne into flutes. Bill and Fleur were dancing slowly, Fleur's bump creating an awkward distance between them. Nonetheless they were looking into one another's eyes with the same look they'd had on the night of their wedding, Hermione noted fondly. They really were in love.

She was interrupted from her assessment of the guests when Ali slid into the seat next to her.

"Watcha Granger," he grinned, flashing her a glimpse of his white teeth. She smiled back, but not half as animatedly. "Feels like you've been avoiding me, I've barely seen you," he admitted, and Hermione flushed.

"Not at all!" She exclaimed hurriedly, "Just what with being Ginny's maid of honour and all, I've been really busy –"

"It's fine," Ali cut her off. Something which really irked Hermione – people cutting her off mid-flow. "I understand you've got a lot on your plate. Dance with me?"

"Sure," Hermione smiled fondly at the wizard. Any other stage in her life and she'd have been delighted to have his affection. And yet there was only room for one man in the mind of Hermione Granger, and he had red hair and freckles – not black hair and a tanned complexion. It was a bit of a shame, really.

Across the marquee, Fred was sat listening to his girlfriend talk about her amazing shot against the Mad Maccabees the other week for about the billionth time that evening. He was nodding politely, and adding exclamations of amazement where he deemed appropriate, but he wasn't really listening.

His eyes drifted elsewhere in the room, watching with a faint trace of a smile on his face as his eyes fell on Ron, sucking Lavendar's face in a truly revolting manner. Percy was talking to a girl – and if he had of been nearer, Fred would have felt inclined to tease his older brother for actually not repelling a member of the opposite sex, but alas he had to sit and listen to his girlfriend recount the manoeuvres she'd pulled in every Quidditch game she'd ever played. Bill and Fleur were dancing, and Ginny had her head on Harry's shoulder as they waltzed across the dance floor, seeming as if they were in a bubble that consisted of nothing but one another. He wished Angelina looked at him like that.

"So then I ducked to the left and did this amazing spin, still holding the Quaffle, dodged Baldwin and then sent this totally wicked spiralling shot past Polanski," she grinned, finishing her story. Fred nodded politely in acknowledgement, and downed the rest of his flute of champagne, the bubbles going straight to his head.

"D'you want to dance?" Fred asked Angelina half-heartedly. The witch contemplated for a moment and then shook her head. Her flute of champagne remained untouched, and it was all Fred could do not to grab it and force her to drink it – after all, what was the point of weddings if you couldn't get completely smashed?

"I've got training tomorrow, I really ought to be getting off – I've got a bit of practicing to do before the game, and then I need an early night," the witch announced. Fred struggled to contain an eye roll.

"You're not staying with me, tonight?" Fred asked, surprised, for he had assumed that his girlfriend would want to spend time with him. "I've made us supper and everything," he admitted, his tone somewhat dejected.

"You have?" The witch seemed surprised, "Oh well you'll have to eat it yourself. I ought to leave," she said, planting a kiss on Fred's cheek, gathering her things, and standing up to apparate.

"Just like that?"

"What?"

"You're just going to leave me dateless for the evening?" A disgruntled Fred asked, even though he already knew the answer. Once Angelina had decided she was going to do something, she did it, and there was no changing her mind.

"Don't be such a whiney git," Angelina chided, "The evening's nearly over, anyway. I wonder if your Mum will leave me a bit of cake…" she trailed off when she saw Fred's expression.

His eyes were cloudy and angry, and he seemed detached. "Bye then."

And Fred Weasley walked off, leaving his bewildered girlfriend in his wake.

Fred swiped another flute of champagne from the drinks table when his Mum had the attention of his Dad. He downed it quickly, the sour liquid hitting the back of his throat. His eyes swept the dance floor, and as he leant against a nearby table, he scowled.

He appeared to be the only person at this wedding not having fun.

Bill and Fleur were sat at a table, talking as Fleur nursed her swollen ankles. They were deep in conversation, had smiles on their faces, and sparkles in their eyes. They looked happy and very much in love, at that. If only his own relationship was quite as successful, Fred sighed.

Charlie was talking to three girls at once, womaniser that he was. One was raven-haired, like Harry, one brunette and one with silvery locks which meant she had to be in some way related to a veela. Either that or she was a Malfoy, and Fred doubted they'd been to Harry's wedding. He chuckled to himself, as an image of Voldemort wearing dress robes and sobbing into a handkerchief at the sight of Harry proclaiming his love for Ginny popped into his head. His face fell shortly after, as his gaze alighted on another happy couple.

His brother, George, and his wife had barely said a word to him all evening. Whilst Fred and George had once been inseparable, joined at the hip, and didn't go anywhere without the other, it seemed that his and Alicia's roles had been reversed. Fred Weasley had never felt more like a third wheel, or a spare part, in his entire life. Yet another thing to lower his mood, he thought darkly to himself as he watched them fuss over their baby girl.

He cast his eyes around, looking for Percy. He was bound to be sat alone in a corner, drinking more champagne than he probably ought to, and this sight alone would probably make Fred feel better about himself. His eyes widened in shock as he spotted his bespectacled "frère" in a corner with, to his surprise, a girl in his lap. It wasn't Penelope – she was talking to one of the distant family relatives over in the corner of the tent. The girl in question had blonde hair, and although quite plain looking was miles out of his brothers league. They seemed to be chatting and laughing, and Fred watched with a sense of revulsion as Percy pushed a lock of hair out of the girls face. There was a moment's pause, and then Fred felt distinctly awkward as he watched his brother kiss the girl lightly on the lips. He turned away, not wanting to witness it progress to a fully-fledged make out session. Especially when he wasn't going to be getting any himself, either.

Fred was beginning to suspect that there was no way that his evening could get any worse, but that was before he saw Ali and Hermione.

To Hermione's delight, Ali turned out to be one of the best dancing partners she'd ever had. The rhythm was upbeat, and so was the mood, as he swung her this way and that, helping her perform little pirouettes, giggling as they shimmied across the floor in time with one another.

Hermione found herself letting go of her inhibitions – she got her ability to dance from her mother, and thankfully wasn't cumbersome in nature like her father – and laughed vivaciously as she performed spin after spin after spin.

She was breathless and laughing manically when a familiar red head cut in, "Alistair, would you mind?" asked Fred. Hermione noticed he had an unfamiliar glint in his eyes.

Ali, equally as breathless, shook his head, choosing to ignore Fred's use of his full name, as he excused himself and went to rehydrate. Hermione was a hell of a good dancer, and he doubted he'd have been able to catch up with her for much longer, anyway.

Hermione smiled at Fred, and he managed a small half smile. The track had stopped, and a now disentangled Percy was stood over by the record player, saying something to Mr Lovegood, who had agreed to do the music for the wedding. He looked up, caught Hermione's eye and winked. She struggled to keep the emotion off her face, as a slow song began to play, and she realised what Percy had done for her.

Fred, if he was bothered by the change in mood, didn't show it. Instead, he bowed elaborately and proffered his hand to Hermione.

"My dear Hermione, given that my date has deserted me for this evening, would you do me the honour of joining me in this dance?"

"T'would be my honour, my good sir," grinned Hermione, giggling as Fred took her dainty hand in his somewhat larger, manlier hands. Without thinking, Fred placed his other hand on the small of her back, and smiled fondly as Hermione's eyes widened at the familiar gesture.

They glided across the floor, their steps perfectly timed with each others. At some point during the song, Hermione rested her head on Fred's shoulder, and he drew her closer to him.

Barely a hair's breadth apart, Fred could feel Hermione's slow and laboured breath on his neck, his hairs standing up on end as a shiver and familiar sensation ran through him. He felt his stomach churn, and butterflies fluttered from within it. It was a good job Fred wasn't Bill, what with enhanced werewolf hearing, because if he was, then he'd have heard the quickening pace of Hermione's heart, as his fingers traced patterns on her bare skin. Their proximity between them was making Fred aware feelings he didn't even know he possessed, for this Gryffindor bookworm.

"Where's Angelina?" Hermione asked timidly, breaking the surmounting silence between them. She looked up at Fred through mascara framed lashes, her wide brown orbs like a chocolate fountain. The kind of fountain Fred wanted to hurl his self into and get lost in.

He shook himself, for the champagne was clearly going to his head. What on earth was he doing thinking about Hermione in that way? He thought frantically to himself. He swallowed as he recalled a wise expression Bill had once said, "We do things drunk that we don't usually have the courage to do sober."

"She ditched me. Something about Quidditch practice tomorrow, or was it not being able to pull that stick out of her arse for one evening? I forget the details," grinned Fred, weakly. Hermione laughed, sending the reverberations along the length of Fred's body. Her laugh was sweet, innocent even, and in his mind Fred likened it to the noise of a nightingale. Here he was, really going off the bend, he chuckled to himself. His fingers carried on tracing patterns on Hermione's bare back, searing her skin with the warmth of his touch. Subconsciously, he pressed himself closer to the Gryffindor witch, like a moth drawn to flame.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hermione admitted. "I wanted everyone to have a good time at Ginny and Harry's wedding," she sighed, sadly.

"But I am having a good time," Fred smiled softly as his eyes met Hermione's. "I'm dancing with the world's most beautiful witch, you don't get much of a better time than that," he fondly told the witch in his arms, who was looking up at him with wide, unblinking eyes. She wasn't quite sure if Fred knew what he'd just said, or if it was the alcohol talking, all she knew was that she really, really wanted Fred to forget about Angelina and kiss the living daylights out of her.

But of course, this wasn't a movie – if it were, then Fred's girlfriend could easily be tossed aside, with no regard for her feelings. Sadly, this was real life.

Which was why, there was a fleeting moment as Fred and Hermione looked into one another's eyes, a moment of shared understanding and shared emotions.

Which was why, Fred began to dip his head closer to the brunette's, and Hermione found she was inclining upwards on her tiptoes.

Which was why, with an exasperated sigh, Fred's hands slipped from Hermione's back and he ran a hand through his hair.

Which was why, Fred excused his self, claiming he needed to get some air.

Which was why, he left Hermione standing alone on the middle of the dance floor, a singular tear rolling down her cheek.

Which was why, Ali watched from the side-lines their exchange, a look of realisation, disappointment and betrayal flitting across his face.

This was why he stormed across the dance floor to confront the Gryffindor bookworm.

So it definitely wasn't a fairy tale ending like the Disney films Hermione had watched as a kid. Far from it, in fact.

"What was that?" Ali demanded accusingly. Hermione choked back a sob.

"Sorry, what?" She asked.

"What on earth was that about?"

"Oh..." Hermione trailed off, her voice unsteady. For the first time in her life, the Gryffindor bookworm was unable to produce a satisfactory answer.

"Can I ask you a question, Hermione?" Ali's tone softened, not wanting to upset the Gryffindor any further. She nodded meekly, indicating for him to continue.

"Did you even like me or was I just part of some dumb scheme to make Fred jealous?"

Hermione's mouth was agape, and she couldn't help but think she resembled a goldfish at that current moment in time. "What, erm, that's ridiculous!" She exclaimed none too convincingly. Ali raised an eyebrow. "You're an amazing guy – funny, good looking, smart –"

He cut her off for the second time that evening. "But I'm not Fred, am I?" He remarked, pointedly, and Hermione bowed her head. "I really like you Hermione. You're smart, beautiful, mature, goal-orientated and practical… you're everything I've been looking for in a girl since I realised they existed. And yet you convince me you like me, agree to date me, and string me along, making me believe that I've got a chance with you. Then you go and dance with Fred like that right in front of me… did you not think I wouldn't realise?"

Hermione broke down into fully fledged sobs, and Ali looked around awkwardly. Thankfully, there was too much going on, and he didn't think anybody noticed their little exchange.

"I'm sorry," sobbed Hermione, "But I didn't mean to hurt you Ali, I swear," she choked.

"I know you didn't," Ali admitted, rubbing her back until her sobs ceased. "But the fact remains you did. Goodbye Hermione, I think I'm going to go home. I'm not in the mood anymore."

Hermione didn't say anything, instead she watched him leave. He was the second wizard to walk away from her that evening.

Hermione stood alone, managing a smile as Ginny cut the extravagant wedding cake and began handing out slices to the guests. Too preoccupied with the day's events, the bride neglected to notice the saltwater trail down Hermione's cheeks – simply pressing her cake in her hand, and moving on to serve the next person.

Hermione also stood alone as Ginny and Harry mounted their honeymoon broom, which had been adorned with a series of ribbons and banners which read "Just Married", trailing behind them as the newly-weds soared off into the horizon, Molly sobbing into Arthur's suit, as he patted his wife's back consolingly.

One by one, the guests filtered out, taking with them baskets of leftover food – for Molly always went a little over board on occasions such as these – and the Weasley family was left in peace. Deciding the clearing up could wait until tomorrow, everyone retreated to bed.

Hermione rinsed her face, washing her mascara away, brushed her teeth and slipped out of the elegant dress Ginny had brought her, into her pyjamas. She slipped into bed, but try as she might, she couldn't fall asleep. Ginny's room was empty and cold without the redhead's presence, and Hermione found herself crying silent, salty tears into her pillow.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and sniffing loudly. Slipping on a pair of shoes and her dressing gown, she made her way downstairs, careful to jump the trick stair.

She paused in the door way as she recognised the shadowy silhouette of a redhead sat by the hearth. The last person she wanted to see, right now.

Fred was sat right on the floor, on the rug in front of the flickering flames. He was staring into them, a vacant, dazed expression on his face. Hermione tiptoed gingerly over to the sofa and sat down, drawing her dressing gown tighter around her.

"Hey," Hermione began softly. She wasn't sure what it was that made her broach the silence between them, but all she knew was that she didn't want to make things awkward by leaving an unbroken silence between them.

He looked around, surprised that he hadn't heard her announce her presence before. He got to his feet hurriedly, running a hand through his hair, and for a split second, Hermione thought he was going to leg it, and make his getaway for the second time that night. To her relief, he sighed, and sat down on the sofa next to her, fingering the zip of a cushion, nervous.

"Hey," he began, "Look I'm really sorry about what happened earlier. I was drunk, angry with Angie, and confused, and I didn't know what to do. I'm sorry I ran off like that, it wasn't nice to just leave you there. But can we just forget about it?"

Hermione sighed, she knew it had been too good to true. Now she was right back to square one, and she'd lost Ali out of it, as well. "Forget about what?" She grinned wickedly. Fred chuckled.

"That's my girl!" Fred grinned, drawing her to him in a tight hug. She relaxed into his embrace, her head on his shoulder, as his fingers traced familiar patterns along her arm. It was therapeutically soothing, and it wasn't long before Hermione found herself drifting into a very deep, champagne-aided sleep.

It wasn't too long until a drowsy redhead joined her in slumber, one arm protectively wrapped around her waist, the other still stroking her arm. His mouth lolled open, and he snored softly, but not loud enough to wake the brunette sleeping in his arms. Hermione moaned faintly, nuzzling against her firm, but warm pillow, her frizzy mass of hair splayed out across his chest.

There was a crack as a figure apparated in the garden of the burrow. The witch pushed her hair behind her ears and busied herself looking for her purse. She must have left it at the table she was sitting at, she sighed, as she checked every table. Nothing.

She realised Molly must have taken all lost property inside for safe keeping, and with a softly spoken "alohomora" she unlocked the door to the burrow, sleeping inside the familiar abode. She was tired and needed to find her purse soon because her flat keys were inside, so she gingerly tiptoed through the cosy house, searching for her bag.

She picked up the skirt of her gold dress, careful not to let its hefty skirt knock any of the ornaments down as she brushed past the furniture.

She stopped stock still as she reached the living room, for unless her eyes were deceiving her, Fred Weasley was curled up looking rather snug, and very much familiar, with none other than that know-it-all bitch Hermione Granger. Her _boyfriend_ was curled up, fast asleep with his arm around a girl he claimed was "just a friend".

 _Just a friend, my arse,_ thought Angelina snidely to herself. Too tired for the imminent argument tonight, and needing to get back to her flat in time for training tomorrow, she snatched up her gold clutch and replaced it with the one she'd taken by accident. She apparated with a crack from the living room, not caring if she woke the sleeping duo up.

Fred had never been a heavy sleeper – unlike, it seemed, his bookworm curled up alongside him – and he awoke with a start. He'd heard a "crack" that sounded like somebody disapparating. He shook his head, it was probably just some dream he'd been having. He reached for his wand, and conjured a blanket, which he draped over himself and the brunette in his arms. He found he slept better with the familiar beat of Hermione's heart pounding in his eardrums, as her light breathing and unruly curls tickled his skin. He drew her tighter in his arms, and then drifted off into slumber once more.

He had no clue about the hurricane that was about to hit him, for if he did, then he likely wouldn't have slept half as well, nor ventured into work the next morning.


	11. She's Going Off

**Chapter 11: She's Going Off**

Hermione sighed as she woke up, nuzzling against what was an extremely comfy pillow. A pillow that was moving, at that. Her eyes widened, and she sat up with a start, as she realised she'd fallen asleep in the arms of Fred Weasley. Fred woke up moments afterwards – disturbed by the brunette's shuffling. He grinned cheekily at her, reaching up to rub sleep out of her eyes, muttered, "Morning 'Mione," then promptly fell straight back asleep. _Charming_ , Hermione thought to herself, as she rolled her eyes and gingerly climbed over the back of the sofa.

Making her way into the kitchen, she fixed herself a bowl of cereal, and watched the sun as it began to rise in the sky. The house was quiet, for a change, which meant it was still early. Either that, or everyone had all drank a bit too much champagne at the wedding yesterday and was unwilling to wake up just yet. Hermione chuckled to herself at the image of a bleary eyed, hung-over Molly, as she rinsed her hair under the shower, lavishing on her cinnamon shampoo. Some people weren't so lucky – _some people_ like Hermione and Fred had work to do. Which was why, with a prod to the stomach, Hermione woke the redhead.

:Ouch Hermione," Fred half-winced, half-grinned, "Thought the school motto was "never tickle a sleeping dragon"."

She rolled her eyes. "Firstly," she began, plumping the cushions on the sofa as Fred sat up, "I didn't tickle you, I prodded you so that you'd wake up. _Secondly_ ," she grinned, "You're not a dragon. So your point is invalid."

Fred rolled his eyes, sinking back into the furniture, "Hermione it's too early to be mind fucked, please can you just go easy on me for once!" he exclaimed, and the Gryffindor handed him a plate of toast that she'd made him. "I guess this makes up for it," he admitted, as he bit into the crunchy bread, laden with his favourite chunky, homemade peanut butter. Hermione grinned.

Looking at the clock, before realising it was useless at telling the time, Hermione gathered her things, thrusting some clothes at Fred and ordering him to get ready for work.

"Ok, Ok!" the poor wizard exclaimed, "I'm coming. No, I was wrong in what I said earlier, _you're_ the dragon in the morning, 'Mione," Fred announced with a grin – narrowly dodging the punch and death glare that Hermione sent in his direction as she apparated to the shop.

Trade was unusually slow for the day, and once she'd replenished the depleted stock, Hermione found herself with nothing to do. She was perched on the counter, when Ali arrived. He made to greet her, and then his face fell as he remembered the events of the day before. He managed a polite smile, but Hermione could see the hurt in his eyes – and she cursed herself for having gone along with Ginny's plan.

She'd lost a friend out of it, it seemed, and that irked her for the majority of the morning, as the duo manned the shop in awkward silence, each attending to the needs of various customers individually, instead of conferring and sharing the task like they would have done previously.

Fred and George were on the invention roster – hidden away at the back of the shop behind a door that was hidden to customers. Weird bangs and the occasional funny smell could be smelt, but that was the most contact Hermione had with the troublesome redhead all morning. Slowly, the minute hand on the clock crawled round to twelve, and the shop shut for lunch.

Both twins came out of the lab with excited grins on their faces, chattering excitedly about some new product they'd been working on. Hermione could barely get a word in edgeways, and once Ali enthusiastically joined in, she found she didn't want to. When Fred asked her to stay in the shop over lunch, so that Ali, George and himself could grab a butterbeer and discuss prototypes, she didn't think anything of it, watching them disappear down the street as she resigned herself to eating her BLT atop the counter.

Halfway through her second sandwich, the door swung open, the bell jingling to alert Hermione to the visitor's presence. She hurriedly wiped the mayonnaise from the corners of her mouth, and curiously made her way to the front of the shop.

She stopped dead, as none other than Angelina Johnson stood, glaring at her, boring into Hermione's skull with a look that rivalled Voldemort. In two short strides she closed the gap between them, staring at Hermione intently with a look that resembled pure hatred.

"Where's _my boyfriend_?" The witch asked, clearly staking her claim and making no effort to be polite.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted truthfully. He hadn't specified _where_ they would be getting a drink. "Why, do you need me to tell him something?"

"Yeah," Angelina remarked snidely, "I do. I was planning on dumping his ass for sleeping with a tramp like you –"

Hermione's mouth fell open in shock. "Oh don't deny it," snarled the Quidditch star, "I saw the two of you curled up all cosy last night when I came to collect my purse. All these months you two have been hanging out and he's claimed you're just a friend. It's fucking pathetic, that's what it is, outright lying to me like that," she spat.

Hermione stood utterly speechless, listening to the older witch's tirade. "Angelina," Hermione spluttered, "I haven't slept with Fred! What are you on about? Last night we just fell asleep on the sofa together, it was nothing, I swear," she hurried, not wanting to cause bad blood between them. She seriously hadn't foreseen _this_ happening, and was currently wondering if she should have paid more attention in Divination classes at school.

"You're a lying disgusting _Mudblood_ ," Angelina snarled. "I'll be glad to get rid of Fred, I tell you. I'll leave you the honour of dumping his sorry ass for me. I bet this is what you've been wanting, all along," the witch choked, "Well congratulations, Hermione, he's all yours."

And with a short, sharp and very painful slap aimed right across Hermione's face, Angelina stormed out of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, disapparating with a loud crack.

The second she was gone, Hermione's tears flowed freely, running down her face in salty torrents, as the gravity of the girl's insults cut into her, reminding her all to readily of the vile word carved into her arm. The slap had been heartfelt, and it stung. Rinsing her face in the washroom sink, as she tried to wipe away her tears, she saw the visible outline of a handprint, painted red on her face for all to see.

A knock on the door made her jump, and Hermione snarled ferociously at the intruder to her privacy, "What?!"

"Whoa, Hermione," George looked shocked as the bushy haired witch stepped out of the bathroom, her usual pride and composure vacant. "What's wrong?"

Hermione's eyes widened, threatening to spill tears again, and she turned on her heels, prepared to flee, but ran slap bang into none other than Fred Weasley.

Fred caught her, before she hit the floor, and took in her appearance, a worried glint in his eyes.

"'Mione?" he questioned, as he gingerly wiped away a tear. The handprint on her face was still evident, and he didn't need to ask what was wrong. "Who did this to you?" He demanded angrily.

Hermione's eyes darted to the floor, looking anywhere but into the eyes of the concerned Weasley in front of her. His fingers gently tipped her chin up so that she was forced to look into his wide, blue, caring eyes. He shook her by the shoulders, this time more frantic. "Who was it?"

Tears flooded freely down her cheeks, and Fred Weasley ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. "'Mione?"

There was so much pain and heartfelt emotion in the way that he said her name that she could feel her heart splintering into a hundred tiny pieces, as her next sentence tumbled out of her mouth.

"Angelina did. She saw us, on the couch, last night. She came in at lunch to say -" Hermione trailed off as her sobs consumed her. Fred's eyes were widened in shock, and he seemed genuinely torn, making Hermione's heart break that little bit more.

"What? To say what, Hermione?" Fred pressed, already suspecting the worst.

"That it's over," Hermione said meekly, watching Fred's expression crumble, and him sink to his knees on the dusty floor of the store.

"Why would she do this?" He asked faintly, "I don't understand. I've told her you and I are just friends, why doesn't she get it?"

Ali was now privy to the conversation, and he looked confused. "If I could just suggest," he began, and Hermione shot him a warning look that he ignored, "That you and Hermione are very close friends. To a girlfriend who, let's face it, has jealous tendencies, then maybe she misconstrued your friendship as something more, especially seeing you asleep on a couch together – an act, which, let's face it, is pretty intimate." Hermione couldn't help but notice how bitter the older wizard sounded.

"Are you OK Hermione?" Fred asked, ignoring Ali's interjection. He touched the redness from where Angelina had slapped her, gingerly. Hermione's mouth managed a small smile as she nodded meekly. He turned to address Ali. "I need to go see her, talk to her, hear what she has to say, OK. You guys can close up shop if you want, especially since I think Hermione deserves the rest of the day off after that ideal, don't you?"

George and Ali nodded, knowing better than to argue with Fred in his agitated state as they made to get their things.

"I'll lock up," said Hermione, watching as the three men made their way out into the street.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Fred said as he buttoned up his coat, and a part of Hermione could detect a hint of apology. Yet more fragments of her heart shattered as she realised he was apologising for going after Angie, when he had the choice to stay here with her.

Second rate, as always it seemed. And as she changed the "Open" sign to "Closed", Hermione let her tears run freely down her cheeks.

Hermione wasn't sure quite how long she'd been sat, watching her tears trickle in between the cracks in the floorboards. A spider had crawled across her line of vision, and in her somewhat morbid mood, she had squished it under her finger instantaneously. But a glance outside told her that it was now dark, and the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley had been reduced to the occasional late night shopper walking by in haste, on their way home. With a sigh, the Gryffindor pulled herself out of her sitting position, and shrugging on her coat, left, locking up as she went.

Not feeling like returning to the burrow straight away, she made her way to a wizard pub on the way. Dragons and Mermaids or something along those lines, was the name of it, not that Hermione paid it much heed as she shoved her way into the pub, sitting down heavily at the bar and ordering a fire whisky. She knocked it back easily, and before she knew it, Hermione Jean Granger was just a little bit drunk.

A redhead slid into the bar next to her, and the smart witch outwardly groaned – somebody to remind her all about the person she was drowning her sorrows over. Just her luck, she muttered darkly to herself, giving the redhead a once over. He smiled at her as if he knew her, before saying, "Rough day at work?"

She regarded him with suspicion, before her eyes widened in alarm. She _did_ know him; in fact the red head in question was none other than notorious womanizer, dragon tamer and older brother to Fred, Charlie Weasley. Poker genius, and owner of a rather nice torso, if Hermione remembered correctly.

"Hey Charlie," She slurred. "You could say that. I got bitch slapped by your brother's girlfriend, abandoned and left to close up shop."

"Ah," Charlie grimaced tactfully. "Sorry to hear that. Which brother's girlfriend is this?" He asked curiously.

Hermione winced at the memory. "Angelina Fucking Aren't I Beautiful Johnson," she announced. "Fred's," she added in answer to his question. "Well, his ex, now that she caught me sleeping with him."

Charlie stared at the Gryffindor in shock, not quite sure she understood the gravity of her admission.

"You slept with Fred?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, slurring again, "No, silly, we fell asleep on the couch together. Angie-whatsit saw us. I _wish_ we slept together," she admitted, with a longing look. Charlie look taken aback – although he'd only met Hermione a few times, now, he certainly hadn't seen this side of her.

"Oh, I was going to say, I could understand why Angie would want to slap you if you did that. So got the hots for Fred, huh?" Charlie was amused, you could see from the smirk on his face.

Hermione, a very wasted witch, clapped her hands over her mouth in shock. "I wasn't meant to tell anyone," she slurred, "Please don't tell anybody," she pleaded with Charlie, eyes wide.

The dragon tamer put his hand over his heart, partially mocking the drunk witch. "Cross my heart and hope to die," he grinned, flashing his trademark smile. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

"Charlie?" Hermione asked, her voice childish but somewhat endearing at the same time, "Do you think I'm beautiful?"

Charlie smiled at the Gryffindor, who was currently propped up on one elbow, struggling to keep herself upright, and hiccupping. "Yes, Hermione," he chuckled, "You're very beautiful, and any brother of mine would be lucky to have you. Especially Fred. But I think you should come with me back to the Burrow," he smiled sympathetically at her. "It's getting late, wouldn't want Mum worrying about where you are, would you?"

Hermione shook her head several times and then stopped, as if alarmed. "The fact that I'm drunk is only going to exacerbate things, isn't it?"

Charlie chuckled, helping the brunette to stand steadily on her feet. "Trust you to use long words when you're drunk, Granger," and Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, prompting an eye roll from the older Weasley. "C'mon, let's get you home," he smiled fondly down at her – for he was beginning to think of her as a little sister as the days went on – and wrapped his arm around her waist in preparation for side-apparition.

Charlie, as promised, delivered the young witch into the safe and highly capable hands of his mother, who with a shake of her head (having already been informed about the day's events by George, who had popped home for a visit) cast a sobering charm over Hermione.

And it was steadily Hermione's feelings of sadness began to creep back over her. After demonstrating to Molly Weasley that she could, in fact, walk in a straight line and was therefore no longer a liability to herself, or others, she was allowed to make her way out into the garden, to find her thinking spot. Hermione climbed the gnarled blossom tree, getting as high up as she could without the boughs breaking, before noticing that she had company.

Her eyes widened as she took in the hunched over figure of Fred Weasley, sitting on the opposite side of the tree from her. In fact, it very nearly made her fall from her position in shock. He looked over at her, with a look of sadness, before breaking the silence.

"Being dumped sucks."

Hermione nodded, not really knowing what to say..

Especially when Hermione believed that Fred was better off without Angelina, anyway. Regardless of whether or not she herself was in the equation.

"I'm here if you want to talk about it," she managed meekly, her voice nearly cracking under the strain of her words. Fred shook his head resolutely, and wiped his eyes. Eyes, which Hermione had noticed, were rimmed red from crying all day.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep on you," her voice was quiet and barely audible. Fred laughed, but it didn't feel warm like it usually did.

"It's not your fault, Hermione. Angelina was wrong to drag you into it – you've done nothing, I'm telling you – we've had relationship issues for a while now. I guess I just wasn't able to see it until Angie pointed them out to me this afternoon," Fred admitted, dejectedly.

"But Fred she's right – knowing you had a girlfriend, I shouldn't have just fallen asleep on you without a trace of guilt –"

Fred cut her off by putting two fingers over her lips, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Once more, she very nearly lost her balance and fell out of the tree.

"Hermione, so what? We're two friends, who had a bit too much to drink, and fell asleep on a sofa. I hardly think we need to over analyse it," he announced, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself about something.

Hermione nodded, "I guess." She tried to ignore the feeling that was as if she'd just been punched in the stomach. The kitchen light flickered, and a shadowy figure retreated, as Molly Weasley went to bed, shaking her head and wondering when they would realise.

Elsewhere, an extemely angry Angelina Johnson was pacing his flat, still wincing as from where she had kicked his footstool in anger.

Oliver Wood rolled his eyes. "Ange, don't you think you're over reacting a little?" He suggested, trying to play mediator. The glare that his co-player shot him told his otherwise, and he seemed to shrink in his armchair. She could be scary, he thought, especially when angry.

Still, her volatile temperament always led to hot makeup sex, so he wasn't too perplexed. "I'm just saying, Ange, that you're making a massive deal over the fact that you caught him asleep on a sofa with Hermione," he chuckled at the memory of the frizzy haired bookworm who had followed his Seeker around, back at Hogwarts. "A downgrade, if I must say," he grinned wryly at the witch, "When really, you've been fucking my brains out for the past six months anyway. I don't really see what you're complaining about," he admitted.

The witch rolled her eyes in frustration, "Its a matter of _principle_ , that's all. He lied to me – he told me Granger was just a friend."

"Well maybe she is," he suggested, shrugging. "It's not like they weren't wearing clothes – for all you know it could be completely innocent, and that you just misinterpreted it."

Angelina shot Wood a pointed look. "D'you know what I think?" she asked, incredulously.

Oliver quirked an eyebrow, more confident now that he'd been promoted from the Puddlemere United reserve squad. "What?" He asked, grinning.

"I think you should shut up and kiss me," she smirked. And so he did.

Hermione shivered from her position in the tree. It was late, and as summer was getting nearer to the end, the temperatures in the evening were dropping. Without thinking, Fred shrugged off his hand knitted sweater and handed it to the shivering witch.

"Thanks," she smiled weakly at him, and he nodded, still not quite managing a full smile. The jumper was warm - thanks to Fred's body heat - and it smelt of him. Masculine, with some exotic aftershave which the Gryffindor couldn't quite place. It was far too big, of course, as Hermione shrugged it on. Fred found himself chuckling at the sleeves, which came down a good fifteen centimetres or so past the brunette's hands.

"C'mere," he said, proffering his arm, as Hermione shuffled carefully along the branch, closing the gap between them. She relaxed into his embrace, her head leaning automatically on his shoulder. Without even really realising he was doing it, Fred Weasley began tracing faint patterns on Hermione's hand, the same way he had done on the night of the wedding, the evening before. It provoked feelings in Hermione that she had been trying to supress. Fred needed time, now that Angie was out of the picture – she couldn't just throw herself at him, and hope that he would catch her. That would be wishful thinking, she sighed.

"Sickle for your thoughts," said Fred, looking inquisitively at her. Hermione looked up at him, close enough to him that she could count each and every freckle on his nose, as well as feel his warm peppermint breath mingle with the cold night's air.

"I was just thinking about relationships," she admitted.

"Oh?" Fred asked curiously, before adding in a somewhat resigned tone. "Got your eye on anyone, at the moment?"

"That would be telling, wouldn't it," Hermione managed, a lot more confident than she actually felt.

"Aww c'mon," Fred said, finally breaking out in a grin. "I'm your best friend, aren't I?"

"And what's that got to do with anything?" She teased.

"Well if you can't tell me, who _can_ you tell?" Fred remarked, feeling triumphant. Hermione rolled her eyes.

He really was ever so obtuse, she thought to herself. She could tell Ginny, who would most likely craft a seemingly ingenious plan, which would sound like a great idea at the time, but would do more harm than good in the long run. She could tell her Mother, she thought with a sad sigh, if her Mum actually knew who she was. She could tell Charlie, and spend the rest of her nights fretting as to whether or not the Dragon Tamer was a good secret keeper.

Or, she could tell Fred, she mused, and she wondered as to what his reaction would be. He could laugh at her, awkwardly change the topic, or heaven forbid, run away. Then again, she thought hopefully, maybe he'd oblige her, give her a kiss. That would be nice, she thought with a small smile, as she recalled the shitty day she'd had. Then again, perhaps telling Fred she was in love with him right after his breakup with his long-term girlfriend had dumped him wasn't the most tactful of things to do. So once again, Hermione resigned herself to waiting, for the right moment.

"What's his name?" Fred pressed.

"Not telling," smiled Hermione. "You can ask five yes or no questions, if you want, though."

"Do I know them?"

"I should think so," Hermione smiled cryptically.

"Are they a redhead?"

"Yes," she chuckled to herself. Even _that_ question didn't narrow it down too much – Ali was still kind of included, there were a few more redheads in her year at school, as well as the extensive Weasley family. Fred had a while to go.

"A Weasley?" He asked, bemused. She nodded, and he rubbed his chin in thought.

"Ron?" Hermione scoffed, shooting Fred a disparaging look, and he laughed, tipping his head back and actually laughing, piercing the cool night air with his merriment.

"Seriously?" He asked, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief – he'd wasted his last question.

"Yes," she smiled, "And that's your last question. It's not Ron."

"Sneaky bitch," Fred whined, jostling her so that she very nearly fell out of the tree.

"You love it," she shot back at him, and he hugged her warmly.

"Wouldn't have you any other way," he grinned.


	12. Your Worn Out Jeans

**Chapter 12: Your Worn Out Jeans**

Even though Fred Weasley was doing his best not to show it, he was depressed. Wallowing in a swimming pool of self-pity, he was barely able to drag himself out of bed and attend work every day, locking himself in his flat as soon as the day's shift was done.

Molly was sick of it, for she never liked seeing any of her children upset; especially when it meant that they weren't eating the copious amounts of food she usually cooked for them. Ginny was sick of it, for she was the one receiving all the whiny letters when she was meant to be on her honeymoon, having a good time and ignoring the majority of her family. George was sick of it, for Fred's inspiration was nowhere to be seen; they hadn't created a new product all week – an all-time low for the entrepreneurial twins.

But most of all, Hermione Jean Granger was sick of it. Absolutely sick – completely and utterly loathing herself, for she still suspected she was the primary reason for Fred's breakup with Angie. Even though Hermione thought Fred was now better off without Angelina Johnson, there was nothing she liked less than seeing Fred reduced to a moping broken-hearted man.

This was why Hermione had resolved to cheer the freckled redhead up and was trying to come up with as many ways as possible that she could do this. Currently, she was drawing blanks. It didn't seem appropriate for her to prank him; for then Fred would surely assume that the whole world was out to get him. Nor did pranking another Weasley seem an option – for Fred would surely remain oblivious to her efforts, for he spent so little time at the Burrow nowadays, as it was.

"Fred?" Hermione called, as she knocked on the door to the flat above the shop. There was no answer, so she unlocked the door using the key that George had loaned her, and slipped inside, shutting the door behind her as she did so.

She found Fred sat on the sofa, staring out into the distance as if in a trance, legs crossed and staring ahead resolutely. It was as if he didn't even notice her presence. Which would probably explain why he jumped ten miles in the air when Hermione cleared her throat.

"'Mione?" His tone was questioning, "What are you doing here?"

"You, my friend," she smiled fondly at the redhead, "Need cheering up."

Fred shook his head, "Nuh-uh, I'm fine right here."

"Well then I'll stay right here with you, and cheer you up."

"No Hermione, seriously, I'm fine, just go."

"I'm not going anywhere, Fred, you were there for me when I needed somebody to talk to, so now I'm going to be here for you. That's what friends are for; you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours."

"But my back doesn't need scratching?" Fred's tone was confused, and it was clear he wasn't familiar with the muggle expression.

Hermione giggled. "No, silly," she laughed, "It's a muggle phrase. It means if you do me a favour I'll do you one back."

"Oh," Fred chuckled, "Silly me." There was silence for a few moments between them, and Hermione came to sit down on the sofa next to him, the warmth of his thigh next to hers burning through the denim material between them. "I could really use a massage, now you mention it," quipped Fred cheekily. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Well if that's what'll cheer you up then I guess I'm morally obliged to give you one, aren't I?" She teased.

The redheaded pretended to air punch the air triumphantly, "Being dumped is awesome!" He exclaimed, causing Hermione to burst into peals of laughter.

"Lay down then," she instructed him. He did as he was told.

"D'you want me to take my shirt off?" He asked, innocent, for a change not up to anything. She paused for a moment. Yes, yes she did want Fred to take his shirt off – but this wasn't quite the setting that she had envisaged. She shrugged.

"You can if you want," she told him, feigning nonchalance, and so he whipped his shirt off his head, revealing a chiselled, sculpted torso from years of Quidditch playing. Hermione's breath momentarily hitched in her throat – and she was thankful when Fred lay down stomach-down on the sofa.

"I'm going to have to straddle you to be able to reach your whole back, is that OK?" she admitted, somewhat embarrassed, feeling her heart racing at fifty thousand beats a minute. Fred shrugged, his shoulder muscles rolling, sending an involuntary shiver of pleasure throughout Hermione's body. She really had it bad for the redhead.

"You can straddle me any time you want, 'Mione," Fred grinned into the pillow he was lying on. Hermione could sense the playful edge to his voice – a tone that she hadn't heard in all too long. It was refreshing, reassuring even, to know that the real Fred was in there somewhere. A large grin spread across the face of the Gryffindor bookworm.

Nonetheless, she smacked his back, pretty hard at that.

"Bloody hell Hermione!" Fred exclaimed, laughing, "If you wanted to play rough then all you had to do was say," he found his own joke hilarious, and collapsed in peals of laughter.

Hermione pursed her lips, trying to supress the smile that was drawing at the corners of her mouth. "Fred, do you want me to do this or not?"

He grumbled an apology. "Sorry, 'Mione." He sounded like a naughty schoolboy - catapulted back into the days where he would have received many a lecture from his head of house, Professor McGonagall.

"Apology accepted," now it was Hermione's turn to smirk. There was something about being in charge that the Gryffindor bookworm had always liked, and she didn't feel self-conscious about herself as she gingerly straddled the older boy's lower back, extremely aware of the close proximity of their skin. "Just shut up, OK. Breathe deeply, in, then out. If I do something that's uncomfortable, say, this is by no means an attempt to torture you –it's meant to be nice, OK?"

"Gee," Fred chuckled, "That's so reassuring." Hermione shot a withering glare at him, which was received by his back, and the redhead could feel the weight of her gaze prickling his skin.

Fred took a deep breath, nodding, and placed his head down on the cushion in front of him, his arms either side of his head. Hermione was silently buzzing, her inner goddess stretching in elation, as her hands wandered over the course of his sculpted figure. She found herself having to steady her own breathing, as she massaged his back and arms, rubbing and rolling his skin between her palms.

A few moments into the massage, Fred let out a deep moan, and Hermione grinned knowing she had hit a sweet spot. Concentrating on that area meant Fred Weasley was melting into a puddle of pleasure beneath her. Without thinking, she found her hands wandering lower, trailing sensually down his lower back and easing the tension. She felt Fred tense beneath her, as her hands wandered even further south.

"Sorry," she muttered breathily as she moved her hands away from the line of his trousers. Fred shook his head into the pillow, having momentarily lost the ability to speak.

"No, it's fine," he muttered, "Please, go anywhere, you're the boss," incoherence seemed predominant between the both of them, their voices husky – clear that they were getting as much pleasure out of this as one another. "Free reign is all yours."

Smirking, Hermione balled up her fists, placing the flat of her knuckles onto his back, and with a certain degree of pressure, kneading the supple flesh. She allowed her hands to trail further, this time, not stopping at the line of his jeans.

She splayed her palms out over his buttocks, not lingering for too long, and her hands then trailed down his legs, massaging his thighs and easing the tension in his shins. Avoiding his feet – for Hermione had particular aversion to feet - she made her way back up the length of his lower body, easing knots and dissipating the tension as if she had been born to do it. As her palms grazed his lower thighs she felt him shudder beneath her, and a low moan came out of his mouth – voluntarily or not, Hermione couldn't quite tell. By now she was feeling more daring than ever, as her hands trailed back up the length of his bare torso. She leant forward with the movement of her hands, and once she reached the nape of his neck, bent down seductively.

"Feel good, Fred?" her tone was teasing, and had just the right element of playfulness to make light of the situation. Fred couldn't even manage a coherent response, instead he just let out another low moan, as she squeezed the knots between his shoulder blades.

"Feeling any better yet?" She asked, as her finger nails raked down the length of his torso, with Fred arching his back to meet her touch as he writhed in pleasure.

Fred Weasley was currently being tortured. He may not have been pinned to the dungeon walls by shackles, being taunted by Filch – but it was the same principle. With the way Hermione's hands swept the length of his figure, expertly plying his skin, and knowing all the right places to touch, his skin was on fire. And so was his groin. When Hermione had innocently – or perhaps not so innocently, Fred thought to himself, for she certainly seemed to know what she was doing – squeezed his thighs, that had been it. He could feel his arousal pressing into the sofa, and if he rolled over, then Hermione would too.

Now there was an idea. He growled, and immediately, Hermione retracted her hands.

"I'm so sorry Fred!" She exclaimed, seeming worried, "Did I hurt you?"

Fred made up his mind instantaneously, and before Hermione could say another word, he had flipped the both of them over, using the strength he'd honed from years of Quidditch practice, to flip them over so that he was hovering above her. His animalistic side to him had won the battle with his inner gentleman, and he found himself involuntarily pinning Hermione's wrists so that she couldn't get out of his grip, merely squirm beneath him.

He looked down at her curiously, noting with pleasure that the fiery glint that he was sure was present in his own eyes, was also present in hers. They were glazed over with want, with longing, and Fred wasn't quite sure what that meant. She looked up at him, her large chocolate orbs wide and questioning, as if wondering innocently what had brought about the change in his demeanour.

Hermione wouldn't readily admit it to anyone, but she was extremely turned on. And so was Fred, if the bulge in his jeans was anything to go by, she thought to herself, after an accidental buck of her hips in her struggle meant they made contact.

Some part of her meant she rediscovered the ability to speak – something which Fred hadn't quite managed. "Were you not enjoying the massage?" She teased, knowing full well that he had been in his element.

Fred shot her a disparaging look – of course he was, and she knew that. Stupid witch was going to make him admit it, wasn't she? Why did she have to be such a conniving know-it-all, he sighed. She always seemed to be getting the better of him.

"Of course," he smirked, "You know I was… but there's a better way of cheering me up that would benefit both of us at the same time," Fred remarked pointedly.

Hermione looked up at him, her eyes full of trust. Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. "What's that?" She asked, timidly.

"I think you know," Fred told her, his trademark grin flashing across his face for the first time in an age. "Kissing cheers everybody up."

"Is that so?" Hermione teased, seeming a lot more confident than she felt. Suddenly, she wondered if Fred could feel the way her heart was fluttering in her chest, and her cheeks flushed pink at the realisation that their close proximity meant that he probably could.

"So what d'you say?" Fred questioned, trying to analyse the flushed girl beneath him. This wasn't the Gryffindor golden girl he'd gone to school with; this was a butterfly who'd finally broken out of her cocoon. She was beautiful, perfect even, Fred found himself thinking, as he looked down at her.

Hermione didn't respond, she was still looking up at him with wide eyes – the want evident in her dilated pupils. So instead of allowing her to respond, Fred leant in, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss.

Hermione Jean Granger couldn't quite believe it; when she had woken up that morning, the last thing she had envisaged had been giving Fred Weasley the massage of a life time – least of all actually kissing him, after months of fantasizing about doing so! But the real thing far surpassed her expectations, and she found herself like putty under his touch. Finally, after a few blissful and heated moments, Fred released her lips – them both breathing heavily.

Hermione writhed embarrassed underneath him, battling with her conscience. What she was about to say next could quite possibly ruin the moment altogether. "Wait, Fred," She interrupted. "I need to tell you something."

He raised an eyebrow quizzically, indicating for her to go on.

"Just so you know this whole thing was kind of on purpose on my part…" Hermione trailed off, a blush flushing across her cheeks and revealing her embarrassment. "I just wanted to let you know… I really like you." It had taken a large proportion of her Gryffindor courage for her to be able to choke out that last sentence.

Hermione remained completely stock still, trapped underneath him in her embarrassment, waiting for him to finally say something.

Fred stared at her, dumbfounded. "You mean you did this on purpose?" His tone was surprised more than anything – and Hermione thanked Merlin - whoever he was - that the redhead didn't sound angry. "You mean you tried to seduce me?"

She shrugged, not really knowing what to say.

"Merlin's beard!" exclaimed Fred, grinning, "You sure you weren't destined for Slytherin after all?"

This warranted him a punch in the abs – which were so tantalisingly on ready display – and a laugh from a certain brunette.

"Wait," she told him, confused. "So you haven't got a problem with that?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "I sincerely doubt that if I had a problem with your latest admission that I'd be lying on top of you, having sinful thoughts about getting into your knickers. You like me, I like you. It's as plain as simple as that Hermione – and after this I hardly think the two of us can deny that we've got chemistry. But what do you want this to mean for us?"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat – in the midst everything that had been going on, she hadn't been expecting to be dealt the hand of cards. She shrugged, acting casual.

Fred continued after her non-committed answer.

"Well if it's OK with you Hermione, I need a bit more time before I commit myself to another relationship. Yeah, I like you, but I still like Angie as well – and there isn't an inch of me that can help that, because if I could then I'd forget her in an instant. It's not fair on you for me to ask you to be my girlfriend in light of that, so what do you want to do?"

Again, Hermione shrugged, trying to pretend that it didn't hurt to hear that Fred had feelings for that good-for-nothing bitch. Ever the optimist, Hermione tried to look for the positives amongst all of this. Fred _liked_ her. Fred thought they had _chemistry_. Fred _would_ ask her to be his girlfriend, if it weren't for the situation. That had to be the light at the end of the tunnel, she thought to herself.

"How about we see where it goes between us but don't put any label on it other than 'just friends' for now?" She countered, sensing the scepticism in her own voice. Fred clearly didn't pick up on it, instead he grinned wickedly.

"So kind of like friends with benefits?" He mused. Hermione winced at the idea, the preposition alone sounded filthy, dirty even. But then again it was Fred Weasley offering free access to his lips, which Hermione had been fantasizing about for months now.

"Yeah," she conceded. "Between you and me – nobody gets to know, yeah?"

"That's probably best," Fred chuckled, "Imagine the look on my Mum's face if we tried explaining that we're essentially fuck buddies." Hermione winced at the crassness of the term, but laughed nonetheless, for the image of a bamboozled Molly Weasley struggling to understand the concept really was quite a funny one.

"Well," Hermione sighed, happily, "I'm glad we've cleared that up."

"Mhmm," Fred murmured, seeming entranced by the lips of the girl below him. "Me too." He captured her mouth in another passionate kiss, Hermione responding hungrily, as they battled for dominance, raking her fingers against his bare chest, eliciting a sultry moan from Fred. Grinning against his lips, they broke apart, needing air.

"Holy Merlin," exclaimed Fred, touching two fingers to his lips as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Hermione smiled, knowing full well what the redhead was experiencing. Her mind was still reeling from the aftermath of their kiss. "Feeling better?"

"Much," grinned Fred, the familiar spark back in his eyes. He lowered his lips to Hermione's again, and this time she matched his fervour, fully expecting the assault. His lips gently plied hers, and she found his tongue coaxing her own once she let out a breathy moan, gently parting her lips. This time, Fred broke the kiss, looking down at the girl beneath him as if in disbelief.

"I've got another sort of overwhelming tension which needs relieving," Fred remarked pointedly, as he are pressed his clear erection against her thighs. Hermione's eyes widened even more – if that was altogether possible, given that they were already as wide as saucers. "I need a cold shower," Fred admitted, "As I'm imagining you're not the kind of girl to jump into bed with a man right away, please excuse me," he placed a chaste kiss on her lips as he clambered off her, and retreated to the bathroom with a ginormous smile spread across his face for the first time since Angie had dumped him.

Hermione found herself smirking. She, Hermione Jean Granger, bookworm extraordinaire, had reduced Fred Weasley to this state. And although he had perhaps been wrong in his assumption – for she probably _would_ have slept with him there and then, given her current state – she had finally done it. Fred Weasley had kissed her. And it was the best feeling in the world.


End file.
